


Seven Point Eight

by TheTetrarch



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 106,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTetrarch/pseuds/TheTetrarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a road trip home from a concert, Steam Powered Giraffe encounter a feisty old lady, a natural disaster and a whole lot of pain. There are oodles of feels, a bunch of angst and hurt babbies, and fluff. PILES of fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seven Point Eight - Chapter One

"Cactus!"

"Jon …"

There was a faint but undeniably weary hiss of steam.

"Ooh! Another cactus. Aaaaannnnddd a BIG cactus!"

There was another hiss of steam, this time a decidedly irritated one.

"Oh, for cryin' out lou –"

"Cactus and a BIRD!"

The Spine sighed inwardly. The journey home from Wyoming was, he could tell, going to be a tough one. Especially since this stretch of the Mojave Desert was full of cacti. And the odd bird or three. He looked at The Jon, peering with wonder out of the window of their old touring bus and greeting each cactus they passed like a long-lost friend … and had been doing so for the past two hours. The Spine had to smile inwardly, even as his younger brother was driving him and the rest of the band into dark thoughts of rapid robot disassembly with a pickaxe. The Spine secretly envied The Jon his sense of wonder. It was their youngest robot who kept him sane sometimes, when The Spine's circuits decided to throw the odd spark of horror into his dreams at night. The Jon had a way of driving the hooglies away with a gentle laugh and a knowing brotherly hug.

"Cactus! Cactus … cactus, cactus … bird! JACKALOPE!" This was followed by a cackling giggle and a decisive hat-wobble.

But right now, The Spine thought, the pickaxe solution looked mighty appealing.

"The Jon – don't make me come back there!" Steve grumbled, curled up in the front passenger seat, head now scrunched under an old purple pillow he'd sneaked from Michael who was taking his turn at the wheel.

"Huh?" The Jon stopped his observations for a second. But _only_ a second. "Hey Sam! CACTUS!"

Sam didn't hear a word. He was sound asleep in his seat. The Spine was pretty sure Sam could sleep through an earthquake.

"Jackalopes, huh, b-b-buddy?"

The Spine twisted around in his seat at the words. Behind him the oldest robot member of their band was stretched out on the back seat, arms crossed and hat tipped forward over his optics. A glimmer of blue and green shone dimly from beneath the brim.

"Cactapusses, Rabbit!" The Jon squirmed from his seat and flung himself down to sit on the bus floor beside Rabbit. "And a jackalope! It wasn't yodelling though." The Jon's blue-on-blue photo-receptors carried just a hint of puzzlement. "It looked kinda _dead._ "

"Cacti." The Spine muttered.

"Say whaaat?"

"Cacti. Plural of cactus. No such word as cactapusses," The Spine reiterated patiently.

"Ahhh," replied The Jon, The Spine knowing full well that his little brother would take not one whit of notice. They were cactapusses, and always _would_ be cactapusses. He sighed and turned to Rabbit.

"And you. You're supposed to be powered down, Rabbit. You need to get some rest." He raised a stern eyebrow, something he had worked hard to perfect in his 116 years of existence.

Rabbit caught the brim of his hat and pushed it back to reveal the wry, ever-so-slightly-manic grin that he used to disarm people who were trying to get him to do something he didn't want to do. Rabbit had stubbornness down to a fine art. Well, at least he thought he did.

"N-n-n-n-ahh … I'm just fine, The Spine." His smile became a tad more manic. "Hey – that rhymed! Waddya know!" He wriggled his fingers to make his point. The grin widened.

The Spine was having none of it. He leaned over the back of his seat and perused the clockwork 'bot. For all of Rabbit's insistence that he was 'just fine,' The Spine knew better. He noted the barely perceptible tics and tremors … ghost glitches that wouldn't go away. An elbow twitch here, a foot flick there … remnants of a major episode that had left Rabbit helpless, panic-stricken and deeply distressed. It had been almost two days, and the copper automaton was still exhibiting relics of the incident.

The Jon's blue gaze caught his optics, and The Spine knew that The Jon was as deeply concerned as he was. And was that guilt he saw on The Jon's golden features? He put his hand on the younger 'bot's shoulder and squeezed.

"Not your fault, Jon. Rabbit just did what all of us would have done. It's called looking after your own."

The Jon's optics blinked and became moist with oil. "Butterflies," he whispered.

Rabbit's manic grin softened.

"Oh, n-n-n-now, you guys, I'll be ba-ba-ba-ba-" … _twitch_ … _tic_ … " _BACK_ to normal as soon as we get-t-t-get home and Michael can, uh, p-p-p-patch up m'insides." All of this verbal tic-ing was accompanied by tremors and vibrating glitches than ran through Rabbit's aged copper plating like ripples on a pond. Of course, all of them knew glitching was part of what made Rabbit who he was … but this was different. His usual malfunctions were physical – his determination to avoid upgrades at any cost meant worn limbs that didn't quite behave as they should and an endless variety of clicks, creaks, boiler-rumbles and vocal stumbles, amid grinding gears from his over-one-century-old internal functions. They all knew that and dealt with it, as well as coping with one of the dangdest, stubbornest 'bots in creation.

But this … this was something that didn't happen often, and it was entirely a result of trauma. Even now, as he lay at rest, a time when Rabbit was usually free of the worst of his mechanical disfunctions, The Spine saw the tautness in his brother's construction, tension that wasn't allowing his battered frame to at least recover a little from the events of two days ago.

The Spine snorted to himself, allowing the teensiest escape of steam. Humans who didn't know the automatons thought Rabbit was just a badly-repaired robot. If he'd been human, they just might have recognised Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when they saw it. During their time in Vietnam, Rabbit, more than any of them, had seen … _stuff_. And he had paid for it.

He rarely 'slept' – the nightmares that he shared with his brothers through the Walter Manor WiFi were just too traumatic for them all, so Rabbit simply avoided giving nightmares a chance to take hold. He was easily startled. 'Jumpy' was the word Michael used, and Rabbit's hyperactive behaviour meant it didn't give him too much time to think. To ponder. To _remember_.

Rabbit's life, for all of its apparent chaotic fun, was rigidly controlled. He had to control his body and its quirky failings. He had to control his emotions, those chemically-produced reactions that Pappy had gifted to them all. Rabbit tried very hard to be unfailingly cheerful and upbeat. A tenuous thread of normality that Rabbit tended and nurtured with a desperation that The Spine knew would fail his brother sooner or later, when Rabbit's doggedly rigid control dissolved into true chaos.

That had happened two days ago.

The Spine thought back to the incident and had to agree with The Jon.

It really _was_ all because of the butterflies ...

TBC


	2. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Two days earlier …**

"Ooohhhh, look Rabbit! Butterflies!"

The Jon was crouched close to a chokecherry growing in scrubby woodland next to the Harryhausen Complex, the home of the two-day steampunk convention in downtown Mann City, Wyoming.

The quiet parking lot reserved for guests at the convention was shaded and cool in the early summer heat, and the band had parked Bussie, their ancient bus, near to the entrance so that they could load their gear after their last set and put some miles behind them before nightfall. It was a four-day drive for them as old Bussie's mechanicals (as Sam called them) weren't up to over forty miles an hour.

Rabbit (who loved Bussie dearly) had excitedly suggested at one point refurbishing her engine and inserting a Blue Matter core. He was voted down by the ratio of four to two (The Jon loyally supported Rabbit on this one as he loved Bussie too), and that meant that their travel schedules had to accommodate the ancient vehicle's foibles. Her glitches were almost as bad as Rabbit's, which was, of course, why he loved her so much.

The rest of the band was still speaking to con-stragglers, and Rabbit, never comfortable with crowds unless he was on a stage entertaining them, had slipped away, The Jon in tow, to begin shifting gear outside and loading up Bussie's capacious insides.

But that little plan had almost immediately fallen apart as they stepped out of the building to walk the short distance to where Bussie was parked and The Jon had spotted the butterflies.

He bounced on his haunches gleefully as he flapped his hands at the chokecherry.

"See! What did I tell ya? Butterflies!" He pointed a quivering finger at the leaves. "Papilio multicandata!" he added with precision, nodding dramatically.

Rabbit carefully crouched down beside him, favouring the recently- stiff hip that had been plaguing him all day (the fact of which he would try his derndest to hide from Michael at all costs) and gazed intently at the bush, odd-coloured optics wide with fascination.

"And a very beautiful name it is too, Th'Jon! Are you, uh, g-g-g-onna give 'em _all_ names?"

There must have been over three hundred butterflies on the chokecherry, all sunning themselves in the late afternoon warmth, ethereal gossamer wings glinting pale gold and shimmering blue, echoing the gold of The Jon's plates and the azure of his optics.

Jon nodded seriously and pursed his lips, thinking.

"Yes indeed! This one ..." he pointed at a butterfly high on the chokecherry, wings trembling akimbo as if the very sunlight was powering them ... "this one is the Dowager Duchess Papilio multicandata. And right next to her is Erwin Papilio multicandata, and he's busy having an argument with his cuz Boris ... see? On account of the fact that Prunella here-" this was another butterfly whose rear end was pointedly ignoring two other butterflies busily trying to clamber over one another –"is already engaged to Willington Trunge Papilio multicandata who _of course_ is heir to –"

"Well, well, what have we got here, fellas? Looks like a couple of them freaks from the nerd party!"

The unknown voice dripped sarcasm.

The butterflies suddenly took flight, a cloud of blue and gold setting the air a-shimmer.

Rabbit froze momentarily. The corner of his mouth tic'd and then he glanced sideways at The Jon, who was already on his feet and turning towards the voice. Rabbit joined him, his hip twinging as the much-maligned metal joint protested, and he arose, carefully arranging a cheerful, wide-eyed grin on his face as he looked at the source of the voice. He knew a smile could defuse all sorts of situations. It was worth a try, he decided. His circuits were tingling and his cheek vents allowed a small, cautious puff of steam to escape into the balmy air. Rabbit had heard that tone of voice before many times during his life. A steam man band didn't perform in front of audiences for decades without having to cope with the odd heckler and bully.

There were six of them, wandering down the incline out of the scrubland. Young men in tees, jeans and work boots, at least three of them carrying bottles of beer. The one leading the group was hefting a heavy broken tree limb, swinging it idly at small bushes.

 _Uh-oh_.

Ne'er-do-wells. That's what Pappy would have called them. _Punks_. Rabbit felt his boiler churn with tension, and he could see The Jon out of the corner of his photo-receptor, hands held pensively in front of his chest. The younger automaton radiated nervousness and confusion.

"Raaabbbbiittt …" he stage-whispered a soft wail. He too knew there was something threatening about these young men, and Rabbit understood then that they were going to target his little brother. One of the group was already sauntering towards the brassold automaton, looking at him speculatively. _The easy option_. Rabbit saw the sneers on unshaven faces as they took in Jon's open fear, and Rabbit knew he had to act.

He straightened and genteelly tipped his hat, hands graceful and body seamlessly bowing, internal cogs whirring, ticking, a soft wheeze echoed as his bellows inflated.

"Gerr-r-reeterings, humans! My name is Rabbit, and this is Th-Th-The Jon. We are members of Steam Powered Giraffe, the s-s-singing musical automatons!" He surreptitiously took a stiffly elegant step sideways to stand in front of The Jon, who peered fearfully out from behind his brother. "What, uh, what can we d-do for ya?" He struck a jaunty pose, hands on hips.

The leader of the group was a tall, well-built young man with short-cropped very blond hair and a mouthful of tombstone-like teeth. He grinned wickedly.

"Hey, I heard of you! A bunch of singin' tin men." He wandered to one side of the two automatons and peered at Rabbit's back. "Where's your k-k-k-k-ey, t-t-t-t-in man?" He sneered, parodying Rabbit's glitching speech. He reached out and tweaked Rabbit's goggles. The others sniggered, and they spread out around Rabbit and The Jon, effectively cutting off their route back into the complex.

One of the others pointed at The Jon.

"Nice hat! Pretty cool. Ya wanna let me have that, little fella? A tin man like you don't need a hat, huh. It's not like you're gonna get sunburn, now is it, freak?"

The Jon frowned and clutched his precious hat with its sunburst of iridescent feathers tighter to his bronze curls.

"Nope. Not gonna."

The rest of the group burst into snorting laughter, and several of them advanced on The Jon, invading his body space and jeering as they began to tug teasingly at his bow tie and suspenders. The Jon tried to tuck himself even further behind Rabbit, but there was nowhere to go.

Rabbit tilted his head back slightly, chin jutting, his goggles arched back away from the young man's touch. If The Spine had been there, he would have recognised Rabbit's 'stubborn face.' Mismatched optics narrowed, and Rabbit's lips twisted sideways as he perused these … _ne'er-do-wells_.

"You ain't takin' Jon's hat. P-P-P-Pappy gave'm that hat."

"P-P-P-P-Pappy?" The tall young man's tone was acid. "You're nothin' but a tin freak! You ain't got no 'pappy'!" he spat. "I can take you apart, _freak_ , and I ain't even breakin' the law. You _ain't human_."

To make his point he lifted his stick and prodded Rabbit non-too-gently in the chest. The automaton's worn copper plates vibrated in protest.

Rabbit didn't move. He knew violence, death and destruction. All of them did. All of the Walter automatons had been soldiers. Rabbit was pretty sure that even though his construction was old, he could still make a fair go at taking on these punks – but he had also downloaded a vow of peace, and violence on his part just wasn't an option. So there was only one thing for it. He had to protect The Jon somehow, not only because he was his brother, which was more than reason enough, but also because if these people discovered The Jon's chest-plate and messed with what was inside … well, life could get _very_ dangerous indeed.

 _"_ _Jon_ ," he muttered through the internal wireless telegraph to his brother, " _you gotta run ta Bussie, y'hear me?_ "

Jon took a hesitant step back in surprise even as he fended off the attentions of several of the group who seemed to find his suspenders particularly funny, pulling and releasing them with a hard THWACK! against The Jon's chest.

"But … but … I can't leave you, Rabbit!" The golden robot blurted aloud. "What if – "

" _Shhhh!_ " Rabbit scolded. " _No what-ifs, Jon. When I t-t-t-ells ya, ya run, okay?_ "

The Jon nodded, even as the rest of the young hoodlums closed in, grinning. One threw a bottle at Rabbit, the glass shattering as it hit his bad hip. Rabbit flinched, taking a staggering step backwards as his hip protested and several glass splinters found their way through his thick pants and into his hip joint, but he steadied and stood firm. Several small oil lines began to bleed black fluid, soaking rapidly through Rabbit's pants leg. He settled his be-goggled hat more firmly on his head and lifted his hands into fists, much like the old bare-knuckle fighters he'd seen when he was a new robot, 'waaaay back when Pappy would take his three robots to local carnivals.

"Oooookkaaaaay, punk!" he yelled, surprising himself with the daring in his glitching voice-box. "Do ya feel lucky?" He narrowed his photoreceptors even further until they were mere slits and glared. "Well D-D-DO YA?" He growled, moulding his lips into a Rabbit-Eastwood-snarl.

Surprisingly, it worked. All six young men looked at Rabbit, momentarily distracted by the vehemence in Rabbit's voice and they blinked at the bobbing automaton, bunched fists held up before him and looking ready to defend the world and his brother. Which, of course, he was.

Rabbit knew it had to be _now_.

"RUN, TH' JON!" he yelled wildly, his fists beginning to wheel crazily.

The Jon hesitated a moment, then gathering up every atom of his courage, he held onto his hat, took to his heels and ran the 20 feet towards their old bus, Bussie's door opening automatically thanks to Michael and Steve's idea of conniving a link between electrical impulses in the robots' circuits and Bussie's hydraulics.

Rabbit didn't take his optics off the leader of the gang, and watched the man's eyes snap back and forth from Jon to the oldest automaton in front of him, surprised at the ease with which both he and his beer-befuddled gang had been deceived by the simplest of tricks. Rabbit smiled his widest, eeriest smile, and his head tic'd to one side.

"S-s-s-silly humans!" he crowed triumphantly.

Humans under the influence of alcohol were never the sharpest of critters.

Jon scrambled up the steps into Bussie's sturdy chassis and the door hissed shut behind him, the locking mechanism snicking shut. Turning, he leaped into one of the front seats and watched through the window in horror as the six young men realised they had been duped and began to crowd in upon Rabbit. Their intent was obvious. Their leader looked murderous, and he saw Rabbit begin to retreat. The Jon knew Rabbit couldn't run as he had, and he felt the koi in his chest flipping and karooming around the void in terror.

Jon also knew he couldn't help his older brother on his own. His internal wireless connections were working overtime, thoughts tripping over themselves as he frantically called for help.

" _SPINE, ya gotta help Rabbit! Bad guys! Bussie! Michael, tell Spine –_ " The Jon shook his head. No, that was no use! Michael couldn't hear him in his head. " _SPIIIIIINNNNNEEEEEE!_ "

Rabbit slowed his hesitant retreat from the six thugs in front of him, his fists still held up in front of him, futile though he knew the action to be. He knew if he got much closer to Bussie, her sensors would kick in, her door would open and then The Jon would be defenceless. Right now, his little brother was safe. He could hear Jon's frantic calls for help, and sent out his own. Worryingly, there was no reply.

" _Oh c'mon, Spine, answer! Need some help here, cowboy!"_

The copper automaton saw the leader bare his large teeth and heft the heavy wooden limb in his hand.

It was in that single moment of clarity that Rabbit knew he just had to take what was coming, and hope that The Spine and the rest of the band were on their way. His fists became defensive rather than offensive, and he hunched his shoulders, copper plates vibrating with stress.

The leader raised the wooden limb and advanced, the rest of the gang falling in beside him.

Behind him, safely ensconced in Bussie, Jon began to wail.

"Oh dear," said Rabbit.

He scrunched his photoreceptors tightly shut and waited.

TBC


	3. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

It began as an electrical tickle in the back of The Spine's head, his neural connections picking up … well, _somethin_ g. He frowned, causing the young female fan in front of him to hesitate as she gushed excitedly about how "youguysaresoawesomeand isn'the Jon justthe cutestand Rabbit" … _breathe_ … "he'swell _amazing_ an'all andMichaelhe sure canfracturethatbanjoand Sam'smoustache – "

The tickle grew more insistent and The Spine's boiler began to steam. Excusing himself from the slightly bewildered fan and giving her a gentlemanly tip of the hat and his fleeting but charming smile, he tapped Michael on the shoulder. The one-man-band was discussing diminutive chords with two other teenage female fans who seemed more intent on gazing into his eyes than learning about the intricacies of guitar-playing

"Rabbit and The Jon went back to the bus, right?"

Michael blinked. "Uh, yeah … I think so. Loading gear. Don't know if we should've let them though," he added with a wry smile. Rabbits and The Jons left to their own devices tended to make for messy. And noisy. Or disturbingly quiet, which was even worse than noisy, especially as it usually meant they were up to something. And sometimes everything became just plain weird. "I padlocked the refrigerator," he added helpfully.

"I thought you guys could kinda speak to each other," Sam said as he packed away the drum kit. "Y'know, like in your heads." He tapped the side of his own head for emphasis.

"Yes, well," muttered The Spine, "we can, normally. But this is an old building with thick walls. All I'm getting is interference. Although …" he looked puzzled, "although … I have a feeling something isn't right. I can't … quite …"

The tall automaton's head tilted sideways like a pug looking for a treat, and his demeanour suddenly changed. Green optics widened. It was just a faint whisper echoing through his neural circuits, but it was enough for him to straighten so quickly that Michael swore later that he heard The Spine's back give an audible _snap_.

" _Nononononononononononononono nono … Spi –_ "

The whisper stopped abruptly. Then … silence.

"Spine?" Michael looked at the tall automaton, confused. When there was no reply, Michael dropped a concerned hand on The Spine's arm. "SPINE!"

The Spine blinked as though awakening from stasis.

Sam stopped tidying up the remnants of the drum kit and Steve glanced up from his task of coiling cable. The expression on The Spine's metal visage brought him to his feet in a moment.

The Spine looked at his friends. They looked back at him with concern. The two hovering fans took steps back, confused.

Without a word, The Spine turned on his heels and strode forcefully away towards the rear exit of the hall. By the time he had reached the doorway and broken into a heavy jog, his three friends were with him, confused, but knowing that there was something deeply wrong.

As they ran through the long corridor that led to the outside of the complex, Steve piped up, following in The Spine's wake.

"What the heck's going on, guys?" he yelled. "What's hap – "

The Spine glanced sideways, the look of determination on his face almost stopping Steve in his tracks.

"Rabbit."

That single word, and the force and worry with which it was delivered, was enough to silence all three of the humans, and they continued their way without another word. But they couldn't hear what The Spine was hearing.

The nearer they got to the doorway to the parking lot, the more The Spine picked up on the wireless. At first it was just static, a long, rawling jumble of crackles and clicks, but with every step the static cleared a little and then The Spine heard and saw … _everything_.

Explosions. Flares of flame-throwers in sultry jungles. The screams of children, their skin being eaten away by napalm. The stench of rotting human flesh in mud-engulfed trenches and entangled in barbed wire. The whine of Stukas as they dive-bombed refugees stumbling along unprotected railway lines. The piles of skeletal corpses outside a brick crematorium. A vision of himself through his brother's eyes, hurt and bleeding oil and lying in human-blood-soaked mud with his side blown out by shrapnel and _oh God, Spine,_ _don't die, don't die, don't die, don't die -_

Rabbit's memories engulfed him. They swept through The Spine like a wave, and even as the oil trickled from his optics he heard more … an underlying glitching voice interspersed with hiccupping halts and the sense of blows and violence.

_"_ _Nononononononononononononono … s-s-s-t-t-t-o-o-o-op … helphelphelphelphelp … S-p-iiiinnnne …"_

And in the background The Spine heard The Jon's babbling terror.

" _Spine! They're hurting him! Help, Spine! Help Rabbit! Michael! Michael! Ya gotta come help Rabbit! Steve! SAAAAMMM! My fault! MY FAULT!"_

Even as he ran, The Spine stumbled as his receptors became overloaded, Michael catching him by the elbow to steady him – not an easy task as The Spine was no lightweight, his metal chassis far more than Michael could handle. But the automaton righted himself without stopping, and within moments was exploding through the door from the dim corridor out, out into the bright sunlight to be with his brothers.

TBC


	4. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The next second something small, round and very hard hit The Spine right between his eyes, making him blink and his optics dim. In a flash he caught the object. It was … yep … a golf ball. A rainbow golf ball, its dimples painted all of the colours of the rainbow and a few more besides.

"OOPS! SORRY!" Then … "SPINE! YA GOTTA HELP RABBIT! PLEEEEAAASSEEEE! HELP'M, GUYS!"

As the rest of the band piled out of the doorway behind him, The Spine took in the chaos happening in the car lot.

The Jon was hanging out of one of Bussie's narrow horizontal top windows, yelling, babbling, head and right arm exposed as he heaved what was left of his extensive collection of rainbow golf balls at six young men.

Two of those young men were battering poor Bussie's locked door trying to lever it open, wincing as the odd rainbow golf ball hit them in the kidneys or on the rump, followed by an ecstatic "GOTCHA!" from the brass automaton.

The Spine looked desperately around for his older brother.

_Oh no._

Rabbit was pinned against a large dumpster by three of the young men, one of whom was taking great delight in beating the bejeebers out of the copper 'bot with what appeared to be the remains of a tree limb, each blow shedding splinters as it connected with its victim. Unable to fight back, Rabbit was hunched sideways, propped against the dumpster's side on one leg, the other obviously damaged and useless. Each blow smashed against worn copper plates, beleaguered joints and fragile connections.

The Jon's rainbow golf balls hit one of the assailants every now and again, but they were making little difference. The last member of the group was writhing on the ground, clutching at his foot, yelling "HE BROKE IT! HE BROKE IT!" as loudly as he could. All The Spine could think of was that the idiot had tried to kick Rabbit, and found out to his cost that kicking a metal automaton was probably not the best of ideas.

But most worrying of all was the dreadful sound in The Spine's head … a long, screaming, tic'ing litany, accompanied by the wild, mindless look in Rabbit's odd-coloured photoreceptors, unseeing, unknowing …

" _dontdie-don'tdie-don'tdie-don'tdie-don'tdie-don'tdie –_ "

A second later The Spine dropped heavily to his knees and settled on his heels, the miniscule hydraulic links in his titanium alloy spine firing smoothly and with only a faint hiss of steam, the vertebrae retracting from his chassis. Slipping seamlessly free of his body, The Spine slid forward like a stocky metal boa constrictor while shouting at the rest of the band to "GO HELP THE JON!"

The _fracas_ was over in seconds. While Steve and Sam tackled the two morons assaulting Bussie, both of whom were now more than a tad bruised by Jon's rainbow golf ball accuracy, Michael followed The Spine as he undulated across the ground towards Rabbit.

In moments the hugely powerful vertebrae had swung around, catching all three of the young hoodlums and tumbling them to the ground. They came up cursing – and found themselves facing what appeared to be a snarling metal snake with glowing green eyes and wearing a fedora. Michael took the opportunity to floor the bigger of the two cronies as The Spine wrapped himself around the leader, who yelped in terror and dropped his tree limb. The gleaming blade of The Spine's coccygeal vertebrae hovered in front of his eyes, the razor-sharp tip pressed firmly against his nose.

The leader whimpered.

The Spine grinned.

"RUN." He growled. His grin widened, became feral.

Loosening his grip, The Spine watched as the young man backed off, terrified. Then he ran. He ran aimlessly, just _wanting to get away from here_ , followed by his sorry group of thugs, all by now groaning and limping as a result of the enthusiastic and determined intervention of four members of Steam Powered Giraffe.

"YES!" hollered Steve, punching the air as Sam reinstated his bowler which had come adrift during the battle.

Michael was instantly beside Rabbit, reaching out, ready to support and care for his friend. But Rabbit stared at him, not recognizing anything or anyone, hopelessly stuck in a horrifying nightmarish loop. He had not fallen when the young men had been knocked away from him. His back was flush to the dumpster, head tic'ing sideways followed by a violent twitch of his left shoulder, arm jerking repetitively outwards in a wild gesture of denial. His silence was deeply unnerving.

The Spine slid back into his chassis and before the vertebrae had even fully reattached he was beside his brother.

Michael yelled for his toolkit then glanced at The Spine.

"We have to power him down – look at him! If he continues like this he'll shake himself apart - if his circuits don't give out first! I can hear his bellows from here!"

Rabbit's 'breathing' was loud, irregular and dangerously fast, his bellows caught in this all-consuming loop, his boiler temperature so high that Michael could feel the heat radiating from the copper automaton. Retching gusts of steam gushed from Rabbit's cheek vents and small, glitching clicks came from his voice box, but that was all. He couldn't speak.

Michael tried to carefully restrain Rabbit's flailing arm, which he knew was dangerous but he couldn't help himself. It just made Rabbit worse, unbalancing him so much that his good leg finally gave out on him and he collapsed.

The Spine caught him as he fell. Cradling his brother to his chest, The Spine sank down to the ground, Rabbit held gently but firmly in his powerful grasp. In his head the litany changed, and he saw Rabbit's photoreceptors widen almost imperceptibly.

"" _dontdie-don'tdie-don'tdie-don'tdie-don'tdie-don'tdie-don'-do'-no-no-no-no-NO-NO-NOOO-NOOO-_ "

"RABBIT!" In a single fluid move The Jon slid down beside them having fled the safety of Bussie as soon as he could. The youngest 'bot caught hold of Rabbit's still-wildly-flailing arm, his fingers wrapping around Rabbit's hand. "We gotcha, Rabbit! Michael'll fix ya, an' … an' … " For once The Jon found himself unable to continue. He turned frantically to Michael, his best friend now unpacking his toolkit. "Ya gotta fix'm, Michael! Ya just GOTTA!"

"What do we do?" asked Sam, hunkering down at Rabbit's feet, Steve beside him.

Michael thought frantically. If this had happened at Walter Manor, Rabbit would have just ended up on the operating table, restrained and then powered down until Michael had had a chance to find the problem. He cursed quietly to himself. They were not at the manor, they had no table sturdy enough to support Rabbit's heavy chassis, and even if they did, how would they restrain him? And he DID need to be restrained – Rabbit caught in a loop could be dangerous, and his glitching could become … _extreme_.

"We can't power him down." The Spine's deep voice was rasping with strain. "He's terrified of that even more than the looping. The memories, Michael. The loop means he can't control them and he's frightened he'll take them into his dreams."

"What?"

"He can hear us. He's just so tied up he can't answer. I can hear him in my head. I can _see_ … " The Spine winced as if in pain. "He's … Michael, just find a way to fix what's wrong." The Spine was desperate. " I'll talk to him. _We'll_ talk to him. The Jon and I. Maybe we can get him to relax enough for you to take a look, okay?"

Michael looked at Steve and Sam, both of them feeling helpless, worried … frightened. Steve had never seen Rabbit stuck in a loop before, and even Michael had to admit he'd never seen Rabbit this bad. He took a deep breath and let it out explosively.

"Ooookay. I guess … I guess we don't have a choice. Go for it."

And so The Spine and The Jon talked. They spoke silently, thoughts and images flowing through the telegraph. They spoke of quesadillas, of Pappy, of pegicorns and performances of so long ago. They told Rabbit he was nothing but a pain, that he was a troublemaker, a wonderful co-conspirator in the world of Bad Behaviour, irresponsible, the world's stubbornest automaton, and The Bestest Brother Ever. And every word was couched in Pure Love dotted all over with strawberry marsh-mellows and ice cream (vanilla with chocolate sprinkles).

Slowly, oh so slowly, Rabbit's photoreceptors lost their glaring terror and he finally blinked wearily. His crushing grip on The Jon's hand relaxed, and The Spine, his arms wrapped protectively around Rabbit's upper body, felt the violent shaking subside to a shivering tremble. The heat emanating from the copper automaton was intense.

"That's it, Rabbit," The Spine murmured aloud. "Just relax. Michael's going to check out your insides now, all right?"

Michael saw a teary nod of agreement from The Jon, so taking a deep, shaky breath, he eased open Rabbit's vest and shirt. When he exposed the copper access plate in Rabbit's chest, he wondered how on earth he was going to open it without getting burned. While not hot enough for Rabbit's clothes to catch alight, the plates were certainly heated enough to hurt if touched by human hands. He couldn't work in protective heavy-duty gloves, so there was nothing for it. He reached out and –

"Michael. Let me do that." The Spine gently opened the chassis plate to reveal the glow of Rabbit's Blue Matter core, flickering dangerously in the internal heat generated by a boiler on the verge of breakdown. The Jon felt Rabbit's vice-like grip spasm around his fingers, and he sent out soothing noises over the wireless.

"So … let's see … " Michael leaned forward, gazing into the depths of Rabbit's chest. It was hot, full of vented steam, and the smell of oil assailed his nostrils. "Can't see a damn' thing …" he muttered. "Oh … wait … "

"What?" Steve asked. "What is it?" And then he saw Michael hesitate before inserting his right hand into Rabbit's interior. "Just a sec," he muttered, and untying his bandanna from around his dreadlocks, he ran to Bussie, soaked the material with bottled water taken from a refrigerator that was suspiciously un-padlocked, wrung it out as well as he could and was back beside Michael in a flash. Tucking the bandanna around the edges of the opening, he nodded.

Michael reached into the space and rested his arm against the cool of the damp bandanna, feeling gingerly around, occasionally taking a sharp intake of breath as he touched something that was too hot. He knew he wouldn't be playing the guitar for a few days until the tips of his fingers healed up. Then he found what he was looking for.

Withdrawing his hand he pointed at the tiny battery-driven soldering iron in his toolkit. Sam silently handed it to him and within seconds he was back inside Rabbit's chest, muttering to himself. The mutters turned to soft curses, and The Spine could hear the tiny hum of the soldering iron as Michael switched it on.

Then Rabbit convulsed in his arms.

"Hold him!" yelled Michael, and The Spine tightened his grip as much as he dared. The Jon hung onto Rabbit's flailing hand as though both of their lives depended on it, and Steve and Sam flung themselves on Rabbit's legs, trying to keep the copper 'bot as still as they could.

"DAMMIT!" Michael swore, and kept going, the cursing becoming louder, more desperate. And then, Rabbit's convulsion stopped as suddenly as it had begun. He collapsed bonelessly in his brother's arms, and all that could be heard was heavy breathing, the slight skitter of Jon's koi (which was still pretty upset) and two sets of bellows trying hard to calm down.

The Spine was the first to notice. _Two_ sets of bellows. He looked down at Rabbit, now lying so still against his chest.

"Rabbit?" he whispered, hardly daring to hope. For what seemed like an eternity there was nothing other than the uneven flutter of Rabbit's bellows, working hard to cool his system down. But then The Spine felt a tremor run through his brother's chassis, and a small, sputtering cloud of steam came from Rabbit's cheek vents. One blue optic opened blearily, joined seconds later by a green one. Both were dim, but steady.

The Spine smiled.

He smiled that huge, ear-to-ear smile that was the mother of all The Spine smiles … joyous, insanely relieved and utterly, utterly happy.

"Th'Spine …" Rabbit's voice was cracked, dry and almost-but-not-quite inaudible, but The Spine didn't care.

"Yeah, Rabbit?"

"W-w-would you mind asking Mistah Reed to t-t-take his hands outta my insides?"

Michael snorted – and removed his hands, closing Rabbit's rapidly-cooling chest plate. The Spine chuckled quietly. Sam and Steve sat down on the ground, and both of them rested their elbows on raised knees, heads hanging. Sam dropped one hand onto Rabbit's booted foot, patting it. Both humans had a severe dose of the shakes.

Mismatched optics turned to The Jon, still hanging tightly onto his brother's hand, hat askew, blue photoreceptors wide with wonder.

Rabbit managed the very smallest of wry grins.

"Y-y-you okay there, buddy?"

The Jon blinked rapidly, the soft clicking of his optics accompanied by a sudden pouting frown. Then he leaned forward and poked Rabbit in the forehead with the forefinger of his free hand.

"RABBIT! (Poke) You SCARED ME! (Poke, poke) I thought you were going to DIE! (A very big _major_ poke)"

Rabbit, despite the poking, rearranged his face plates into the widest smile he could manage under the circumstances and squeezed The Jon's hand gently.

"M'sorry, Th' Jon. Didn't mean ta frighten ya." He looked a little guilty, and then he brightened. "Hey – m-m-m-maybe we could have s'mores! Th' Spine, can w-w-w-we have s'mores? S'mores're good for makin' circuits better." Rabbit was exhausted and his voice-box was raw, but he had to have the final word. "Honest!"

"OOOHHHH! S'MORES!" The Jon wriggled with excitement.

The Spine cringed at the idea of marshmallow-gooey oil lines and gooped-up cogs, but he didn't have the heart to say no – well, not yet, anyway.

"We'll talk about it later, okay? We have to get Rabbit into the bus and let Michael look at that leg." _As well as everything else_ , he thought.

"He's not going anywhere until he gets some water into him," Michael ordered, all business-like. "I think it's safe enough now. Just a small mouthful at a time, Rabbit. All right? Your boiler's not up to too much at once. "

The Spine and The Jon helped Rabbit sit up a little, and Sam brought bottled water from Bussie (This is when it was discovered that The Jon had at some point mysteriously managed to talk the refrigerator padlock into opening and the poor thing was sulking in a corner), but to everyone's dismay, Rabbit was unable to hold the bottle steady enough to drink. His limbs were still trembling badly when he moved, and after the first couple of tries and spilling water all over himself and The Spine, The Jon stepped in.

He picked up Steve's (still very damp) bandanna, tied it around his curls, popped his hat back on and took the bottle from Rabbit, who was beginning to stress about his lack of coordination.

"I am Nurse The Jon, and I'M IN CHARGE!" he stated firmly. "Now then, Mister Rabbit, just take a sip or two, no more than that. We must get your boiler topped up, but it must be SLOWLY. Here … " Then leaning forward he brought the bottle to Rabbit's lips, and with the utmost care and gentleness over the next 15 minutes, The Jon helped his brother take small sip after small sip of water.

Rabbit relaxed back into The Spine's arms and just allowed himself to be cared for. The water felt cool over his dry voice box and his much-maligned boiler settled itself down into a semblance of normality as it slowly filled with water. He vented steam through his cheeks and felt a bit better. But he still didn't seem to be able to control the shaking. And his hip felt strange, leaking oil onto his pants and the hydraulics in the joint refused to work. He felt the grating of glass splinters with each movement. He also felt other bits of him that weren't doing what they were supposed to do, sparking electrical flares of discomfort every time he moved. He _hurt_.

"Okay," Michael said tiredly. "Time to get you up an' at 'em, Rabbit. I can't take care of you here, so we have to get you into the bus. Steve's gonna drive it closer so you won't have to walk. Don't know how we're going to get you up the steps though."

Rabbit looked up at The Spine.

"Oh, that's, uh, that's easy – Th'Spine is v-v-v-very good at carryin', ain'tcha, Spine?"

A pair of green-and-blue photoreceptors blinked up at The Spine endearingly. The Jon was very good at that whole 'kicked puppy' thing, but Rabbit … he could do 'kicked Rabbit' just as well. And, The Spine thought even as he sighed demonstrably, 'kicked' was the operative word.

"Nurse The Jon will lead the way!" yelled The Jon, making everyone wince at the volume.

The Spine pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his optics.

Within minutes Rabbit was cradled in his taller brother's arms and being hoisted into Bussie, although getting a very heavy metal automaton up Bussie's steps was somewhat problematic, and meant quite a bit of pulling, pushing, manoeuvring of dangling limbs "OW!" … "Rabbit, Sam never touched you" … "DID!" … "No, he didn't." … "Rabbit's bein' a baaaayyy-beeee!" … "Be quiet, Jon." and a dangerously frequent amount of under-the-breath-cussing by several of the band (mostly the humans, but The Spine allowed himself to indulge once or twice).

Once Rabbit was settled onto the long, padded back seat of the bus, Michael ushered everyone away except The Jon, who, being Nurse The Jon, insisted on sitting with Rabbit's head on his lap and soothing his brow. Rabbit had to admit to himself that The Jon's presence was … well, comforting. He was scared and very discomfobulated. This had been the worst incident he'd ever had of being caught in a loop, and even now the thought of powering down unnerved him. He didn't want to see _that_ again. _Ever_. He felt even worse when he realised that he had shared those memories with his brothers, even though he knew that The Jon, at least, had been so busy sending out his own distress signals and retrieving his collection of rainbow golf balls from the refrigerator (after a brief but effective discussion with the padlock), that the images hadn't made too much of an impact. He _hoped_.

The Spine was hovering.

Michael smirked.

"Spine, go do something, okay? Rabbit's going to be fine, I promise."

"Well, I thought I'd be here, just in case – "

Michael raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Spine … take a break, okay? The Jon's holding Rabbit's hand – "

There was an instant babble of complaint from Rabbit about 'I don't need h-h-h-hand-holdin' and that's _Nurse_ The Jon to you!' The Jon nodded soberly in agreement, his brow-soothing becoming somewhat firm. Rabbit didn't mind.

"… and you need to take it easy and not blow a gasket. I can't have _two_ malfunctioning robots to try and fix. Go and help load the gear or something." Michael patted The Spine's shoulder sympathetically. "It's okay, Spine. I got it. You can relax now."

The Spine raised his own eyebrow in reply.

"I don't have gaskets, Michael, you know that. But I guess … well, yeah, I could go load the bus. Are you sure you don't need – "

Michael nodded patiently.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Oh, and the 'gasket' thing – figure of speech." Michael smiled faintly. "Give me an hour or so, and I'll be able to tell you more about how Rabbit's doing. At least he's over the worst of it."

The Spine was still reluctant to go, but he finally turned away, only to be halted by a soft voice.

"Th'-Th'-Th'Spine?"

The tall automaton turned back to see Rabbit looking at him steadily.

"Yes, Rabbit?"

"Thanks. Th-th-thanks for savin' us."

"Yeah! Our hero!" added The Jon, nodding vigorously.

If The Spine had been able to blush, he would have been crimson.

"That's … that's okay, Rabbit." He gazed back at Rabbit and The Jon. "That's what brothers do. Look out for each other. Just like you made sure Jon was safe. And you, Jon … you did your best to help Rabbit until we arrived. I'm proud of you both."

His reward was two of the widest grins he'd ever seen. He left Rabbit to Michael's care and The Jon's tender mercies, and as he stepped down from Bussie into the early evening light he realised he was smiling.

TBC


	5. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

It was dark by the time Michael Reed exited Bussie and sat down on her bottom step. He felt almost dead on his feet. It had been several hours of soldering, replacing the odd burnt-out circuit, repairing several severed oil lines, discovering badly abused and dented copper plates, fixing two wrenched fingers and – most fiddly of all – removing wood splinters from joints and wickedly sharp glass fragments from Rabbit's damaged hip. He had done what he could to repair the malfunctioning joint, but he knew that he couldn't fix it permanently until they got back to Walter Manor. Rabbit could walk, but it would be with a bad limp until the joint was replaced.

As for the damaged cog that had instigated the loop … he had managed to repair an old crack that had been made worse by repeated blows to Rabbit's side, but the cog would have to be renewed sooner rather than later.

Michael sighed. He did not relish the battle he would have on his hands to do so, and he anticipated a long, drawn-out chase around the Manor and lots of cajoling, bribing, threatening and general mayhem as he tried to convince the stubborn automaton that these repairs HAD to be made, and _dammit, Rabbit, I can't keep doing this! You NEED to upgrade this time!_

"Are you all right, Michael?"

He looked up to find The Spine standing beside him. He hadn't even heard the silver automaton approach.

"Oh, hey, Spine." Michael ran a hand over aching eyes. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just … well, _tired_. Where are Steve and Sam?"

The Spine hunkered down beside Michael. It was just habit, as he knew by experience that even with the best will in the world, his height and appearance towering above them could be intimidating to humans, even to his best friends.

"Getting some food for the trip home. You look as though you could do with a hot meal and some sleep. Steve said he'd take the first hitch at the wheel." The Spine paused, and then asked the question he was dreading to have answered. "Soooo … Rabbit. How is he?"

"Hurt. Exhausted. Scared. But he'll be okay." Michael gave The Spine his brilliant, sweet smile that was at odds with the pain in his eyes. "He'll do until we get home, anyway." The smile became bittersweet. "Maybe he'll be forced to use those new gyro-stabilizers I installed the last time he got stuck in a loop. His hip's pretty damaged. I'll need to upgrade it when we get back to the manor, but until then, the limp will make him so off-balance he'll _have_ to bring 'em on line."

The Spine murmured something under his breath and hung his head, his optics glowing soft green in the dark. After a moment he spoke. "I'm sorry, Michael."

Michael frowned. "Sorry for what?"

The Spine adjusted his fedora with one hand and did that characteristic nose-pinch thing with the other that both his brothers and the human members of the band knew was a sign of exasperation.

"Oh … everything. I let my guard down. I should've kept an eye on those two. I should've made sure they stayed with us. And I'm sorry that Rabbit's so ..." His voice tailed off.

"Human?"

The Spine raised his head and gazed at Michael in surprise. The musician-turned-mechanic grinned and continued.

"Rabbit doesn't like change. Neither do you, but for different reasons. With Rabbit it's a link to the past, to days when everything seemed golden and when he likes to think nothing ever went wrong. We can all be like that. It's a very human thing to do. But for you … every damn' day you try your hardest to make sure that your family is safe – and I count Steve, Sam and myself in that little group because that's the way you see us – and you just try to keep everything on an even keel. If the house doesn't burn down and nobody dies, then you notch it up as a day that worked out okay." He rubbed the back of his neck, working out the kinks in the vertebrae before continuing. "Spine, today was a crappy day. But … the bus didn't blow up and nobody died, so let's just take it as a blessing." Michael slapped The Spine on the shoulder companionably. "Stop being so hard on yourself."

But before The Spine could argue the point there was a yell from Sam, staggering around the corner of the complex weighed down with groceries and followed by an equally encumbered Steve Negrete.

"WE GOT FOOD!"

"AND ICE CREAM!" Added Steve, waving a bag.

"ICE CREAM?" chirped a delighted The Jon, poking his head through one of Bussie's windows. "Oh – wait a minute – "

His head disappeared back into the bus, and The Spine could hear a hurried, ever-so-slightly-argumentative discussion going on, which ended abruptly with Rabbit declaring in a voice loud enough to crack ice, "I'm SICK! I N-N-N-NEEEED ice cream! I need ice cream more than ANYBODY! VANILLA with CHOCOLATE SPRINKLES!"

The Spine sighed.

* * *

"Spine? SPINE!"

"Huh?" The Spine woke from his reverie. He was still reviewing the past two days, thinking about Rabbit and how close they had come to losing him. He looked up to find a now-awake Sam standing over him, bleary-eyed and with his moustache looking a bit bent. The Spine mentally shook off the feelings of dread and depression. " Yes, Sam …. What is it?"

"Michael says we're stopping at the next gas station, okay? And _some_ of us need a bathroom break." Sam's warm, cheery smile went a long way to lifting The Spine's spirits. "And YOU need to get some rest," Sam continued. "You haven't powered down since … well, since we left Wyoming." His smile quirked slightly.

Ducking his head, The Spine avoided Sam's concerned gaze and mumbled something about 'daydreaming.' He glanced over at Rabbit and was surprised to see his older brother sprawled under a Power Rangers comforter, completely out for the count. The Jon was curled up on the floor of the bus beside him, one hand resting on Rabbit's exposed arm. Rabbit whimpered in his 'sleep' and shivered as though in a fever. The Jon made soothing noises and gentled his brother through the nightmare, and then looked up at Sam and The Spine. His bottom lip trembled.

"Bad dreams," he whispered. " _Really_ bad dreams."

"I know, Jon … I know." The Spine kept his voice low and calming, knowing The Jon felt responsible for everything that had happened. "But don't worry. Once we're home he'll be all fixed up, I promise." The Jon gave him a watery smile and nodded, although he still looked lost and unsure. His big brother patted him affectionately on the hat. "Just keep on doing what you're doing, Jon," The Spine continued. "It's helping. See? He's finally powered down. And you'll keep him safe in his dreams."

"But … but it was my fault -" The Jon stammered loudly, and then held his breath as Rabbit stirred uneasily.

"Easy there, bucko …" The silver automaton added an extra pat to The Jon's hat. "You have to stop this! It was those … those … _morons_ … not you. Just because they picked on you doesn't mean you did something wrong, okay?"

The Jon didn't look convinced, but he nodded. If The Spine said it was so, then he had to believe him, because in all of their 116 years, his brother had never lied to him. _Ever_.

"Gas station up ahead!" Michael sang out.

"At last!" muttered Sam, "I have to say it'll be nice not to have to go to the bathroom behind a cactus or a bush. I just _know_ there are rattlesnakes out there just _waiting_ to bite me on the butt."

"Well, it's either that or use the bowler hat," Steve snarked, a wicked grin on his face.

"Oh, right, yeah … har, har," the drummer replied, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Leaving the two humans to their verbal sparring (which also made The Jon giggle, which in The Spine's opinion was a Good Thing), The Spine wandered to the front of the bus to join Michael and study the road ahead.

An endless vista stretched before them, a long, straight road among stark hills on either side. The desert was red-gold in the late afternoon sun and the sky was blue with tints of golden pink – the first hints of a majestic sunset, made even more beautiful by the lack of street lights and other city intrusions. For a few moments The Spine wondered what it would be like to just sit quietly on top of one of the hills and watch the sun go down below the distant horizon, and see the endless, mystic drift of the milky way above him appear from the darkening sky.

Michael glanced over at his automaton friend as he drove.

"Pretty, huh?"

"Mmmm …" murmured The Spine, lost in the view.

"The sign back there said 'Gas, 10 miles.' I'll be glad to get out from behind this steering wheel, Spine." Michael stifled a yawn. "There's a motel, too. Wanna stay there for the night? We could use some comfort for a change."

Weighing the pros and cons, The Spine quickly made a decision. This was a road less travelled, a necessary choice as Bussie didn't deal well with interstate travel – or, rather, the drivers on the interstate didn't deal well with Bussie and her laggardly ways. Oddly enough they often got home more quickly and with fewer breakdowns if they chose the less busy – and often more picturesque – back roads. The Jon was of the opinion that Bussie just liked the view and the interesting people they met along the way.

"Good idea. We could all use a good night's rest. Rabbit's doing better and taking an extra day or so to get home won't kill us. We have a couple of weeks until the next gig. I think our finances will stretch – "

Bussie shuddered.

Michael cried out as the steering wheel was nearly wrenched out of his grip and the bus lurched violently to one side, yawing dangerously and skittering across the thankfully empty road. The Spine grabbed the door handle beside him and hung on while yelps of pain as human bodies contacted with unyielding metal came from further back in the bus. The Jon's hat tumbled across the aisle, followed by The Jon making a wild grab for his headgear.

The eerie rolling sensation stopped as quickly as it had begun, and Michael shakily guided the bus back onto the right hand side of the dusty, deserted road, pulling Bussie onto the roadside and slowing to a jerky stop.

In the silence that followed the turning off of Bussie's old engine, all that could be heard was the odd groan and soft curse as bodies extricated themselves from awkward places and bruises were discovered and exclaimed over.

The Spine was out of his seat in a moment, checking that Michael was unhurt and then moving as quickly as he could to the rear of the bus.

"Is everyone all right?" He saw Sam rubbing the side of his head where it had thumped painfully against Bussie's chassis. "Sam?" He received a grumpy wave of acknowledgement even as Sam winced as he found the lump just above his ear. "Steve? Where – ah! … There you are! Are you okay?"

Steve was battling with his safety belt while also rolling up his pants leg to reveal a growing bruise on his shin where it had slammed against the wheel arch. He prodded it gently, and then scowled.

"Just what the _hell_ is going on?"

"I _think_ we were just hit by an earth tremor," The Spine said as he reached the back seat where Rabbit lay. Much to his relief, the copper automaton was still in stasis, lying on his good side to ease the pressure on his damaged hip.

The Jon was back on the floor tucked in beside Rabbit, hat once more in place, hand resting on Rabbit's arm. He looked up at his brother and smiled like a slightly deranged golden angel.

"That. Was. AWESOME! Can we do it again?" he burbled with delight.

"Jeez, I hope not!" Sam grouched. "I thought we only got 'quakes in California!" he added grimly.

"Not necessarily, Sam. We're some way away from the Garlock fault line, but even on this side of the Rockies you can get earthquakes." The Spine couldn't help but exhibit a certain amount of relish as he warmed to his subject. "They're even more deadly because they don't really send out signals of activity like fault lines … the earthquake happens miles deep in the earth and there is no visible fault line on the surface. Which means that we could be hit by a huge earthquake and never know it was coming – " He stopped, puzzled. "What?"

Sam and Steve were glaring at him.

" _What_?" he repeated, confused.

"TOO … MUCH … INFORMATION!" Steve rasped, rubbing his wounded shin.

"… What … ?" then The Spine got it. "Ohhhh … right … um … sorry. It's probably a one-off," he added, trying to be helpful. "About 4.2 on the Richter scale by my reckoning. Minor to light. There are about thirteen thousand of these tremors every year, most of them stand-alone events. Nothing to worry about," he finished airily, waving a dismissive hand.

"Until the ground opens up and swallows us whole," Steve grumbled, "or we die like crispy critters in a lake of molten lava, or we're covered in suffocatin' ash from a pyroplastic-y thingy or – "

"Okaaay, Steve, we get the point," Michael said from behind The Spine. "I'd stop if I were you – you're frightening Jon."

Sure enough, there was a The Jon-shaped backside peeking out from beneath the back seat as the youngest automaton tried to burrow into the sheltered darkness.

Steve was instantly contrite and smiled ruefully at The Backside.

"Sorry, Jon. Tell you what – when we stop for the night, you, me an' Sam'll have a hula-hoop competition, okay?"

The Backside stilled. "Ya mean it?" it said hopefully in The Jon's voice.

Steve nodded, dreads swinging animatedly. "Yeah, I mean it."

"And I'll make sandwiches!" added Sam, wincing slightly as he put on his hat.

The Spine reached forward and untangled The Jon's suspenders which were snagging on the edge of the seat and hauled his brother out like a cork from a bottle. Gently pulling The Jon to his feet and dusting him off, The Spine cocked an eyebrow at Steve as he wiped a smudge off The Jon's golden nose.

"Actually, Steve, molten lava and pyroclastic flow are associated with volcanic eruptions rather than earthquakes. Pyroclastic flow is a cloud of superheated gas and rock that can move at speeds of up to 450 miles an hour with devastating results. In fact it was a pyroclastic cloud that destroyed the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum in 79AD killing thousands of –"

" _SPINE!_!" came a chorus of voices. The Jon began to wail.

A sleepy, querulous voice rose from the robot-shaped heap under the Power Rangers comforter.

"Are, uh, a-a-a-are we there yet?"

" _NO!"_ The chorus yelled as one.

"Oh. Okay. I was j-j-j-just askin' …"

TBC


	6. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

The gas station and motel went by the delightfully quirky name of 'Miss Connie's Emporium (and Motel with Gas)'.

Situated in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by Joshua trees and cacti, the establishment consisted of a rambling adobe single-storey house and store, with a small extension in the yard that housed several motel rooms. The gas station was shaded by a radical 1950s v-shaped cement canopy that stretched over a couple of gas pumps and a free-standing air feed for tires. Sitting smugly on top of the canopy was a life-size, somewhat battered plaster replica of a triceratops with its left horn missing above the eye. It looked rather forlorn, The Spine thought as Michael drove Bussie into the shade of the canopy.

The low sun cast long shadows across the desert as Bussie came to a halt outside the Emporium and most of the weary occupants stepped out into the dry, balmy air. Rabbit had been firmly told to stay where he was until they had organised their rooms and parked Bussie for the night, and then he would be allowed to make his way – with attentive brothers beside him – to the designated room. His plaintive comments about how he 'w-w-wasn't no cripple' were ignored.

The sunset had begun to paint itself across the sky in earnest, the hills now black silhouettes against the rich oranges, reds and purples of the horizon.

It was, Michael decided, a perfect evening after a difficult couple of days. Bussie seemed none the worse for her encounter with an earth tremor, and Rabbit had finally got some rest for the first time since the incident in the parking lot. Now he just wished that The Spine would do the same. He ran his hand through his hair, worried. The Jon had mostly sat beside Rabbit for nearly two days, making sure his brother was not alone and ensuring that whatever was going on in the copper automaton's neural circuits, it didn't affect him too much. During that time the slightly-built brassold robot had powered down, but he had made sure Rabbit knew he was there if he was needed. The Spine said little but had quietly watched over them both.

Glancing at The Spine's gaunt features, Michael thought if an automaton had the capability of appearing utterly exhausted, then that was how The Spine looked at that very moment. If he didn't power down soon, he would begin to malfunction, Michael was sure. Still, they were staying the night at this odd-looking little motel, and surely The Spine would take the opportunity to power down into stasis. Well, at least he hoped so. It was difficult enough dealing with Rabbit without having to worry about coping with nearly seven feet of titanium alloy robot in a state of severe malfunction.

He was distracted by a figure emerging from the small store next to the garage. The store front had been adorned with hanging baskets full of colourful flowers and a series of wind-chimes, all made from odd bits of metal artfully crafted into extraordinary and surreal creatures. Many of the baskets and wind-chimes were now on the ground, shaken from their extended brackets near the roofline. Earth tremors were no respecters of buildings.

The figure was a woman, small and slender, with a mass of silver-gold hair tied back with a red strip of cloth. Her loose multi-coloured batik top and faded blue cotton pants were comfortable and well-worn, and she wore a pair of sturdy sandals. She also walked with a definite limp, supported by a beautiful ebony cane with a silver handle in the shape of a horned creature with elegant expressive hands and a pair of cloven hooves. A mythic faun, Michael realised.

She bent over and caught hold of one of the fallen wind-chimes, using her cane to support herself as she lifted the obviously heavy metal frame adorned with a beautiful yet archaic set of metal giraffes suspended from artfully twisted chains. They clinked musically together as they swung in a faint breath of breeze.

As she straightened she spotted the new arrivals and gazed at them steadily from storm-grey eyes, taking in the group of young men.

"Well, I never!" she said to herself in wonderment.

The tallest of the group, a black-clad figure in a smart fedora hat, gazed back at her from a pair of gently glowing green eyes set in a silver-metal face, and tipped the brim of the hat as they drew closer.

"Let us help you with that, ma'am," it … _he_ … said in a pleasantly deep voice.

Miss Connie Dawson looked up into the face of this strange person – and he _was_ a person, she decided, even though he obviously wasn't human – and smiled.

The Spine looked down at her and saw a woman older than he had first thought, her face fine-boned with soft skin carrying the blush of a healthy tan. Fine lines crinkled under eyes that shone with humour, and creased into over sixty-years-worth of dimpled smiles that came from a wide, expressive mouth. Before he could stop himself he smiled back.

"Thank you, son," she said, her voice strong and melodic. "I could use a hand or two gettin' these things hung back up, and my, you're a tall one. It'll save me usin' the ladder. Just what I need," she added, her smile widening into a grin that was almost girlish. Her dimples were delightful.

The Spine blinked in surprise.

Son. She had called him _son_.

Silently he leaned down, gently took the heavy wind-chime from her hand and raised it above his head. But even with his great height and long arms, he was still a couple of feet short of the bracket. Turning to Steve, he handed him the wind-chime and gestured to The Jon.

"C,mon, Jon – hop up here and we'll get this done."

Connie turned to look at the young man – young _robot_ \- in the top hat adorned with colourful feathers, and raised an eyebrow. Another metal being! She wondered how many more surprises might appear before the day ended, and nodded her thanks as the golden automaton gave her the most beautiful smile she had ever seen and raised his hat in greeting.

She studied the others. They _were_ human, all of them, and very tired, too, by the look of them. Her eyes swept from the young man with neat dreadlocks, an infectious smile and expressive eyebrows to a fellow with mischief in his eyes and a face adorned with the most magnificent ginger moustache … and last of all, a tall handsome lad with eyes that were wise beyond his years. She instinctively liked them all.

The young robot called Jon swarmed up the taller robot and in the blink of an eye was sitting astride broad shoulders and giggling with delight.

"A _horse adventure_!" he crowed, leaning on The Spine's fedora'd head with a sharp elbow and looping his other arm around his brother's face and mouth.

"Mmmpfff … let _go_ , Jon …" came a muffled voice.

"Oh. Not a horse adventure, huh."

"Here – hook this up and we'll get the rest," said Steve, grunting with effort as he handed the wind-chime up to The Jon, now a good few feet above him.

The Jon gave a gasp as he realised that the figures hanging from the neat chains were giraffes.

"DELILAH!" He exclaimed, optics wide with shock. "Look, Spine! LOTS of Delilahs!"

The Spine looked up and nodded, careful not to dislodge The Jon as the brassold automaton diligently – and more than a little reverently – hooked the wind-chime onto its bracket where it sent out a soft medley of chimes in the whispering breeze.

"So there are, Jon … so there are." The Spine patted The Jon's metallic knee (which was somewhere around his ear) in agreement.

"They're … they're _beautiful_!" The Jon continued, his metal fingers lingering over the curves and extremities of one of the giraffes, the rich glow of the sunset making the crystal that was its eye flicker like a glittering fire. He looked down at Connie. "We have a Delilah too!" he exclaimed, "She's a bit bigger than these ones, but she doesn't shine and sing like yours, Miss Connie!"

Connie Dawson blinked.

"Well, ah, thank you," she said, surprised. "I'm glad you like them. Um … how did you know who I was?"

"Oh, that's easy," said The Jon, laughing. "The giraffes told me."

"The … the giraffes?" she said faintly.

"Yep." The Jon continued. "You made them, y'see. They sing the songs you gave them. You make lovely songs, Miss Connie. Songs that look like rainbows and great mountain storms and snow in starlight. Our Delilah can't do any of that stuff. She's dead, ya know." He added seriously. Then he remembered something. Leaning forward over The Spine's head (which brought an indignant mutter from the tall automaton) he offered his hand. "Hi. I'm The Jon – and one day I'm going to be a _real_ boy."

Connie reached up with her free hand and clasped The Jon's, marvelling at the cool golden-brass metal of the long, elegant fingers.

"Well then, hello … er … The Jon. _The_ Jon. Interesting. My name, as you already know, is Connie. Connie Dawson, proprietrix of this here establishment."

The Jon gave her that blinding, beautiful smile once again.

"That's awesome! Now we're friends!"

"Jon, you're crushing my hat!" grouched The Spine. Behind him, somebody snickered. "I heard that, Sam."

Connie couldn't restrain herself any further, and burst into delighted chuckles … throaty, happy chuckles that set her face alight with pleasure.

"My, oh my! What a day I'm having! First I get shook to pieces by an itty-bitty earthquake and every darned thing in my store ain't where it should be, and now …" her mouth widened into a grin, " … now I have robots hangin' my flowers back up! It can't get any weirder than that, surely!"

But the grin faded as she saw the tiniest flicker of pain in The Spine's green optics. She realised that she had hit a raw spot. This tall, silver automaton was as human as anyone she had ever met, and now he thought she was dismissing them as machines with no feelings … she apparently thought they were _weird_.

"Oh, no son, you misunderstand – I think you and your little friend there are … " She struggled to express herself properly, so that he wouldn't misconstrue her comments …" Aw hell, boy! Listen - do you and The Jon like to eat? Because if you fellers can hang up my plants and wind-chimes, I'll feed you! All of you! I'm most grateful for the help, me livin' on my own out in the back of beyond as I do, and I'm not a bad cook! What's your fancy? Steak? Mexican food? Meatloaf?" She looked at the group expectantly.

The humans exchanged glances, and Michael stepped forward.

"Miss Connie, we'd be happy to help out in any way we can, and food would be great! We were hoping you'd rent us a couple of rooms too? We've been travelling solid for two days and … well, we're just about all in, and one of us is sick and needs to get a good night's rest. Do you have the rooms to spare?"

Connie's head tilted and she placed the palm of her hand on Michael's chest, patting it affectionately.

"Sweetie, if you and your friends can help me straighten up my place, then you got yourselves dinner _and_ a bed for the night – free of charge. But who's sick? I was a nurse before I retired, and if I can help – " She looked from face to face, trying to figure who was the sick member of the group.

Steve, who had already lifted a flower basket ready to re-hang, shook his head, the beads on his neat dreadlocks clicking gently.

"That'd be Rabbit. He's still in the bus. He got hurt, but it looks like he's doing better today. He just needs some proper rest. Ma'am, I gotta tell you, we _all_ do," he added with a rueful smile.

"Hurt? What d'you mean, hurt?" Her concern was immediate. "Has he seen a doctor?"

"Nah," interjected Sam, "He's got Michael here. Best robot mechanic ever." He poked Michael's shoulder with a finger to emphasise his point.

"Not good enough," Michael frowned, rubbing tired eyes with one hand. "Just not good _enough_."

"But he'll be fine, ma'am, don't you worry," The Spine assured, hands still steadying The Jon as Steve handed up the flower basket to be hung onto the next bracket. "And stop beating yourself up, Michael. Rabbit will be all right, and it's all because of you."

The Jon hooked the basket and then leaned down to ruffle Michael's hair.

"You did great, Michael. Rabbit's just … " He paused, face scrunching, thinking of the right phrase. "Rabbit's … well … a bit like candy that's been left in your pocket too long. Tastes nice, but it's covered in fluff. And crumbs." He brightened. "And guacamole," he added as an afterthought.

The Spine frowned.

"Jon, that makes no sense."

"Of course it does, The Spine. You just don't understand the importance of fluff."

"I am N-N-N-N-NOT FLUFFY!" came an indignant voice from the bus.

"That's Rabbit," confirmed The Jon. "He's our brother. Our BIG brother. He's bossy, too."

Yes, thought Connie, her day was now officially _weird_.

"We haven't introduced ourselves properly, Miss Connie," The Spine said, carrying The Jon to the next bracket. "My name is The Spine, because, you see, I have a titanium alloy spine."

"And that's his, uh, b-b-b- _back story_!" giggled the disembodied voice from the bus.

The Spine huffed in irritation, a small cloud of steam escaping his lips.

"I'm Michael. Michael Reed. I sing, play music, and fix robots," said the tall young man with the wise eyes and weary soul.

"Sam Luke, drummer." The ginger moustache twitched as Sam gave Connie a wide grin.

"And I'm the sensible one. Steve Negrete, sound engineer." Steve raised one of his eyebrows, charming the wits out of Connie.

"And we are Steam Powered Giraffe!" The Jon shrilled from his perch on The Spine's shoulders.

"The Singing M-M-M-Musical Automatons!" added the bus-voice.

"Oh!" Connie said, eyes wide. "You're a band! Oh landsakes, I should have guessed!" Her eyebrows drew down in puzzlement as she remembered something, her hand reaching out to rest on Steve's arm. "Wait a minute … were you playin' at San Diego Zoo last year?"

The chorus of 'yes!' and 'you bet!' confirmed her suspicions, and her puzzled expression turned to one of understanding.

" _Now_ I have y'all figured out! Sarah, my granddaughter, is at college in San Diego, and worked at the zoo for the summer in one of the restaurants. She went to see you every day she was there. She didn't stop talkin' about you all summer – said you were amazing!" She shook her head, feeling silly. "My memory … gettin' worse, I tell ya. Mind you, she never showed me any of the pictures she took. If she had, I know I would have figured out who y'all were. Wait until I tell her about you bein' here. She'll have a blue fit!"

"WHAT ARE Y-Y-Y-YOU GUYS DOIN'?" interrupted the disembodied voice from inside the ancient bus.

"STUFF!" The Jon yelled back.

Silence. Then –

"W-W-W-WHAT KINDA STUFF?"

"HANGING-UP-DELILAHS KINDA STUFF!" bawled The Jon, hooking up a wind-chime made of tiny metal Tasmanian Devils. He was secretly hoping there would be one with shiny steel-and-crystal jackalopes.

There was more thoughtful silence. Then Invisible-Rabbit apparently made a decision.

"I WANNA HELP!"

"Rabbit, stay put!" yelled The Spine. "You're going to need a bit of support there, goose, and I'm busy right now!"

"I'M G-G-G-GETTIN' OUTTA THE BUS, COWBOY!" Pause. "AN' YOU CAN'T STOP ME!" There was another, more pointed pause. Then came the inevitable Final Word. "SO _THERE_!"

Connie gave a snort.

"My, he's a feisty one, isn't he!"

"You have no idea," deadpanned The Spine.

The rest of the band heaved a collective sigh – except for The Jon, who was busy concentrating on getting the steel Tasmanian Devils to do his interpretation of a Busby Berkley dance routine.

Bussie suddenly rocked on her axles as a loud 'crunch!' came from her insides, followed by a stream of stuttering frustrated mutters. Then Bussie gave a series of short, sharp jerks, as though someone was trying to unsuccessfully disentangle trapped limbs. The jerking stopped. All was quiet.

"Is he all right?" whispered Connie, now somewhat alarmed, and concerned that no-one appeared to be worried about whatever shenanigans were going on inside the bus. If this Rabbit was hurt – and she already couldn't think of this as-yet-unseen robot as anything else but a hurt boy – then shouldn't someone be helping him?

Michael grinned but didn't say anything.

"Uh … guys?" Unseen-Rabbit said from the depths of the bus. "GUYS!"

Sam smirked.

"What is it, Rabbit?" he asked innocently.

"I uh, I could u-u-u-use some help here …" came the plaintive reply.

"Tried to stand up, huh, Rabbit?" added Steve, unable to hold back a chuckle.

There was another telling pause, and then a small, glitchy voice wavered "K-k-k-kinda."

"Gyro-stabilizers!" Michael called in a sing-song voice.

"Uh-uh. A-Ain't gonna u-u-use 'em. They ain't Pappy's – "

"Then STAY PUT!" yelled The Spine, now thoroughly irritated. "Sometimes," he muttered quietly to Connie, "I begin to lose the will to live." Steam trickled from his lips in a sigh, and she was sure she could just hear the sound of bellows from his chest. "If you'll excuse us, ma'am, we'd better go sort him out. He's had a really tough few days," he added in explanation. "We'll get back to this as soon as we can."

The woeful look on his silver face made Connie's heart melt even further. Dagnabbit, there was something about this quirky, disparate bunch of characters that went right to her soul. Before she could stop herself, she reached up and cupped The Spine's face in her hands, which surprised him so much he just stood there, blinking.

"Sweetie, don't worry about my stuff. Go take care of your brother. We can do this later. Family's more important than a couple of flower baskets."

The Spine didn't know what to say. He had known this woman for no more than twenty minutes, and already it was as though he had known her all his life. She accepted the _fact_ of their inhumanity, but it didn't seem to matter. To Connie Dawson, both he and his brothers were as human as everyone else.

Connie watched as the tall automaton tapped The Jon on the knee and told him to get down, and the slender robot leaped into the air and landed as lightly as a bird on the dusty ground. He did a neat pirouette and sang an airy "ta-DA!" and then he ran towards the bus. But just as he was about to scoot up the steps into Bussie, he halted and turned back to look at Connie. He thought for a moment, and then skipped towards her, arms akimbo. Stopping just in front of her, he cocked his head to one side, face plates sliding and shifting as his eyebrows raised and he gave her a quirky grin.

"Can I have a hug?" he asked sweetly.

And before Connie could answer, she had an armful of golden automaton, his face tucked into the crook of her neck and his thin arms wrapped around her, hugging gently. She felt the cold plates beneath his shirt and heard the soft click as his photo-receptors closed, The Jon giving himself up to the love he knew was in this human's heart just waiting to get out.

"I W-W-WANNA HUG TOO!" Rabbit yelled from inside the bus.

Connie Dawson, twenty-five minutes after this extraordinary, unlikely family had driven a rickety bus into her life and into her heart, beamed beatifically through the tears running down her cheeks, and felt the love.

TBC


	7. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

The first time Rabbit set optics on Miss Connie Dawson, he fell in love.

The first time Miss Connie Dawson set eyes on Rabbit, he fell over. Again.

After fifteen minutes of two automatons and three humans extricating one stubborn copper robot from his entanglement beneath one of the bus seats, they had all helped him make his way along Bussie's aisle, down the steps and into the lengthening twilight of a desert evening.

Finally, after over two days lying prone in Bussie, Rabbit stood straight and tall on his own two feet, his hat firmly set on his head and his goggles perfectly centred. He shooed everyone away, tugged his vest neatly into place, made sure his belts were sitting just _so_ , and took a determined step forward.

And fell over.

His damaged hip decided to do some kind of rotational hip-hop, failed miserably, and promptly gave out on him. His ancient stabilizers couldn't cope with such an extreme imbalance, had a collective attack of the 'We can't deal with all of this _PRESSURE_!', and as a result Rabbit collapsed with a yelp in an undignified metal heap in the dust.

The Spine didn't even try to catch him as he fell, although The Jon did yell "OOPS!" as Rabbit hit the ground. Steve and Sam just stood there, arms crossed, showing not one whit of sympathy.

Michael leaned over Rabbit as he lay there, blinking and confused, and said "Told you. Gyro-stabilizers. You _have_ to initialize 'em, Rabbit – you won't be able to walk at _all_ unless you use them. And I'll tell you now, we're not carrying you everywhere until we get home."

Connie, on the other hand, was horrified. She had begun to cook food for supper in her spacious kitchen and left everyone to it, all the while keeping a weather eye on the Rabbit-extraction proceedings through the kitchen window. She couldn't see any real _details_ , but she _did_ see the figure of this as-yet-unmet robot hit the ground with a heavy thud as he tried to take a step on his own.

Grabbing her walking stick, she hurried out as fast as her limp would let her.

"Is he all right?" she demanded as she drew closer to the group. "Is he hurt? You should have held onto him, made sure he could stand on his own! What were you _thinking_?" She reached Rabbit's side just as The Spine and The Jon were bending down to pick their brother up out of the dirt.

"Up you get, Rabbit – and this time, let us help you!" scolded The Spine. Heaving Rabbit to his feet, they held onto him tightly as he shakily steadied himself. It was at that moment that human and copper automaton suddenly – and dramatically – came face to face for the first time.

"Are you all right, boy?" Connie asked anxiously, intrigued by a pair of mismatched blue and green optics and delicate swirls of copper curlicues in a beautifully crafted visage of plates and vents. She reached out to touch his copper-patina'd cheek as though reassuring herself that this clockwork young man was undamaged.

Rabbit froze like … well, a startled Rabbit in headlights. His odd-coloured photo-receptors blinked and clicked out of sync, and he gazed with wonder at the human standing in front of him, oblivious of the worry written all over her fine features.

"PAPPY!" he blurted finally.

" … What?" said Connie, confused. She glanced at Michael. "Did he bang his head? Can he get concussion? You're the mechanic, you make sure he ain't hurt any worse'n he already is – "

Rabbit blinked, this time in sync, and started in surprise.

"Oh my!" he said, awed.

Everyone else looked at each other, mystified. Michael began to wonder if Rabbit _had_ banged his head and scrambled a few circuits, but before anyone could check him out, Rabbit leaned forward and gazed deep, deep into Connie's eyes.

For long moments human and automaton perused one another, each studying the other, taking in the sweep of nose and line of eyebrow, elegant copper curlicues and silver-gold hair.

Connie was entranced. This robot man, this curious soul, this … this … _being_ that clicked and ticked, whirred and hummed, was the culmination of everything she had dreamed of for her entire life. Her love of creating beautiful, strange things had resulted in over four decades of nothing more than quirky wind-chimes and metal sculpture. But here in front of her was the answer to all of her thoughts and dreams – this wonderful creation in all of his glitchy, limping, copper-patina'd glory, this complex and archaic clockwork metal man with odd eyes, an endearing stammer and the stubborn tendencies of a disgruntled mule.

And Rabbit? Well, he was in _LOVE_.

To be sure, it wasn't that hopeless, passionate, boiler-busting adoration he had felt for the love of his life, Jenny the Toaster.

Oh no indeed.

No, this was a different kind of love entirely. This was a love that was warm, fuzzy and all-consuming, like sitting in front of a roaring fire with Pappy and watching a thunderstorm through the huge windows of Walter Manor. Or running ahead of Pappy on a sultry summer's day when he was a young robot and his joints worked properly and his voice didn't glitch. Or lying curled up on the sofa with his brothers listening to Pappy as he told stories of pirates and dinosaurs and cowboys and adventures in aeroplanes. It was _that_ kind of love … the love of a son for a parent gone too soon.

"M-M-M-Miz Connie?" he stammered.

"Yes son?" she replied gently.

"Do, uh, do you like f-f-f-feeding ducks?"

Now Connie was completely confused. "I … I guess … well, yes, I suppose so. Not many ducks around here to feed though," she answered.

Rabbit clasped his hands together in delight, and nodded to himself.

"Th-That's good." His face lit up. "Oh! A-a-an' do ya like to tell stories? Ones about dinosaurs?"

Connie, bemused, nodded. "Dinosaurs. Yep, I can tell you all about dinosaurs. I got me a triceratops. See?" She pointed at the battered plaster triceratops now silhouetted against the fading skyline. "We had a professor from back east who did a dig up yonder in the hills, and found a whole bunch of 'em. We had students and interns here every summer for nearly ten years diggin' up all kinds of dinos. I did pretty good business feeding all of 'em. Got quite fond of 'em too. A couple of 'em even got married up here, and brought their first-born back to see me. They were good times," she added a little wistfully. "The university gave me that there triceratops as a present."

Rabbit turned carefully, helped by The Spine and The Jon, and peered upwards.

"Hot _dog_!" he exclaimed, thrilled. He turned back to Connie. "And cowboys? You like cowboys? A-and pirates? I _love_ stories about pirates!"

The Jon nodded vigorously in agreement and hopped up and down.

"ME TOO!" he squeaked, "and RIDING QUESADILLAS! And little birdies, and jackalopes – I really LIKE jackalopes – and - "

The Jon babbled on as Connie looked around at the members of Steam Powered Giraffe and saw expressions that ranged from a huge grin (Sam), a quirky smile (Steve), confusion (Michael), wonderment (The Jon, of course) to wistful thought (The Spine, all the while making sure Rabbit didn't fall down – again).

She looked up at the tall silver automaton.

"Spine, honey, can you tell me just what the heck is going on here?" she asked. Rabbit was still watching her every move, completely fascinated.

"Well …" The Spine adjusted his fedora with one hand while hanging onto Rabbit by the back of his vest with the other, and took a deep breath, his bellows sighing like a gentle breeze. "It's you. And Pappy. Sort of," he added lamely. He closed his photo-receptors and tried hard to make sense of what he was attempting to say.

"Pappy? Who's Pappy? I don't understand – " Connie was getting very bewildered.

"Colonel Peter A. Walter the First, the man who made Spine, Jon and Rabbit," Michael said quietly. "I think … I think there's something about you that reminds Rabbit of his father."

"And he's not the only one." The Spine said, studying the ground somewhere near his neatly shined shoes. He looked up and cleared his voice-box, plainly discomfited. "When we first met, I thought then that you reminded me of someone – like I'd always known you. There's just something about you … and I have no idea what it is or why we feel like that." He shrugged, obviously somewhat confused.

"I miss him." The Jon's expressive face was unbearably sad beneath the bronze curls.

"Oh my," Connie breathed, unconsciously echoing Rabbit. "I … I don't know what to say."

The silence was … _awkward_.

Rabbit sighed. A deep, soulful sigh that came from the depth of his bellows and Blue Matter core, a sigh that thrummed with yearning and sorrow and heartbreak for his long-dead creator.

"Miz Connie?"

Connie wiped the heel of her hand over her eyes, smearing her second fall of tears in less than an hour.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Rabbit had never been called 'sweetheart' before, and he fell even deeper in love with this small, lame, fragile woman who made him think so much of Pappy.

"C-can I have my hug now?"

With great care Connie wordlessly enfolded Rabbit in her arms, making sure that she didn't unbalance him, and marvelled at the feel of whirring cogs and the ticking soul-beat inside the copper chest. She held him tight, letting him lean into her and rubbing his back.

"GROUP HUG!" yipped The Jon, and flung himself at Connie and Rabbit, wrapping his arms around them both. The Spine grunted with the effort of keeping both Rabbit and The Jon upright, but it didn't stop him from resting his other hand on Connie's shoulder and patting it gently.

Steve watched for a moment or two, and then decided enough was enough.

"Aw hell!"

And joined The Hug, as did Sam and Michael.

For long moments there was nothing but hugging until necessity instigated a reluctant parting, mainly because The Spine's grip on Rabbit's vest was beginning to pull the seams apart under the strain of supporting two robots and four humans.

As Connie stepped back she caught Rabbit by the shoulder and looked him square in the photo-receptors.

"Rabbit … can you do something for me?"

"Y-y-y-yes'm?"

Connie glanced at Michael and continued.

"Switch on those … those gyro-thingies Michael was talkin' to you about."

Rabbit shook his head in denial.

"Oh no, I-I-I- can't do that," he began, "They ain't Pappy's, he didn't make 'em." The set of his metal jaw was firm.

Michael threw up his hands in exasperation.

"I give up! I just … _give up_! Rabbit – if you don't do this, I can't guarantee you'll ever be able to walk properly again even if I _do_ fix your hip! Your old gyros are kaput – they don't work anymore! Those guys beat the crap out of you, and that included damaging what was left of your gyros. Please, Rabbit – for _once,_ do yourself some good and _turn the damn things on_!"

"Rabbit, please, ya gotta!" pleaded The Jon, his photo-receptors beginning to fill with oily tears.

The Spine just looked on helplessly.

Connie decided to seize the day.

"Son? Listen to me!" Her voice was sharp with emotion, and Rabbit twitched, the vehemence of her tone making him flinch. Connie paused, gathering her emotions, knowing how vulnerable Rabbit was. One of her hands cupped his face, and her voice softened. "I'm sorry, boy … I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be sharp with ya. But do you think your Pappy would want you to be hurtin' like this? D'you think he would let his son suffer for no other reason than he hadn't made the fixin's that would heal him?"

Rabbit's optics widened and he gave the tiniest of head-shakes.

"N-No."

Connie nodded.

"No, he wouldn't. Because he loved you, an' he wanted nothin' but the best for you. An' I know that because I'm a Momma an' I wanted my girl to have everythin' she needed to be well an' whole, just like your Pappy. So please, son … switch on the gyro-thingies. If not for me, then do it for your Pappy an' for your family here who love you."

For long moments everyone held their breaths and their bellows as Rabbit gazed at Connie, his body perfectly still for the first time in days. Then he suddenly reached up and clasped the hand lying against his face plates and moved it gently to one of his cheek vents. Connie gasped at the soft billow of warm steam against her skin but didn't pull away, knowing instinctively he needed the contact. It wasn't uncomfortable. In fact it was like the warm breath of a living human being, and she felt the vibrations and soft clicks and hums of Rabbit's mechanisms, the workings that gave him life.

Then, with The Spine and The Jon supporting him, Rabbit straightened, his optics blinked twice, and slowly closed. Connie felt something shift somewhere deep in Rabbit's chassis. A quiet thrum began and she felt his hand tic against hers. Rabbit's whole system was vibrating so quietly that if Connie had not had one hand on his cheek she would not have noticed. She looked at Michael questioningly. He grinned in relief and gave her a thumbs-up.

"What's he doin'?" she whispered.

"He's finding the file and installing the software," Michael explained. "His system is pretty antiquated because he hasn't had any kind of decent upgrades since I don't know when, so it'll take him a few minutes. Then once that's installed it should bring the new gyroscopic rotors that I fixed to his pelvis into play. They'll help control pitch and yaw, so even with his bad hip he should be able to keep his balance and stay upright – well, at least until we get home and I replace that hip joint." He heaved a peevish sigh. "If he'll let me, that is -"

Rabbit suddenly shut down. His optics faded and became dark and lifeless, and the gentle, living vibration of his chassis stopped. He became, much to Connie's immediate distress, nothing more than a dead lump of metal.

"What – what's goin' on? He's not doing _anythin_ g! He's –" Connie was distraught. "I can't feel him breathing!"

Steve touched her arm, trying to calm her.

"It's all right, Miss Connie – he's just rebooting. It'll bring his new upgrades on line."

"You sure?"

Steve nodded confidently.

"Yep – he does this every time he goes through a reboot, just like Spine and Jon. He's okay – honest."

As if to prove Steve's point, Rabbit clicked softly, his Blue Matter core hummed and he powered up, mismatched optics flickering and then bursting into mechanical life. Connie felt the power return, Rabbit slowly coming back into being, the now-familiar clicks and ticks, whirs and hisses travelling through her hand resting on his cheek vent and right into her heart.

Rabbit shifted slightly, nervously testing his balance as The Spine and The Jon kept a safe hold of him in case he fell, but he didn't need them. His badly-damaged hip was weak and sent sparks of electrical discomfort to his neural circuits, but the new subroutines were working and he felt the pristine rotors smoothly stabilize and adjust, the miniscule gimbals allowing him to keep his chassis on an even keel of sorts. For the first time in days he felt … balanced. Being out of kilter had made his boiler unhappy, and a Rabbit with an unhappy boiler was a Rabbit feeling unwell and grouchy and sulky. Reaching up he grasped Connie's hand and held it by his side, hanging on tightly. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Well?" enquired Michael impatiently.

"I … I dunno," Rabbit pondered. "F-feels okay … I guess …"

"Take a step or two, Rabbit – this time we'll catch you if you fall," The Spine urged.

"Y-ya promise?"

The Jon nodded.

"We promise. Cross our boilers and hope ta die," he vowed solemnly.

"You, uh, you don't h-h-have a boiler, Jon. Ya got a koi an' a hotdog."

"Oh. Yeah. Well, the koi says she's crossing her boiler too. Honest engine."

Rabbit's mouth tic'd with humour at the unconscious pun.

Connie cocked an eye at Sam.

"Are they always like this?"

Sam pursed his lips, making his moustache bristle like a walrus.

"Oh, this is nothing. It's usually worse. Much, _much_ worse."

"Okay, tiger – it's about time you took a step or two. Let's see if you can make it to Connie's stoop," encouraged The Spine, relaxing his grip but still poised to catch Rabbit if he so much as tilted a fraction of a degree away from upright.

The Jon positioned himself behind Rabbit, adjusted his hat, and crouched like a quarterback.

Rabbit nodded to himself and glanced at his human family. As one, Michael, Steve and Sam nodded back and strung out between Rabbit and Connie's stoop like an honour guard. Rabbit turned to Connie, bowing stiffly, and tipped his hat with his free hand.

"Miz Connie, w-w-w-would you do me th' honour of accompanyin' me to your stoop?"

Connie, utterly enchanted, curtseyed as well as her lame leg would allow.

"Why, sir, I'd be charmed, I'm sure."

The Jon giggled.

"Best foot forward, Rabbit!" he called.

And so, with a tight hold of Connie's hand and the hovering robots and humans alongside to make sure he didn't 'put a foot wrong,' as Sam gleefully pointed out, Rabbit made his way carefully to the low stoop of Connie's modest home, heading for the warm golden light of her open kitchen door.

The limp was bad, there was no denying it. Even Rabbit had to admit to himself – grudgingly – that his hip joint was up to no good, plotting secretly to dump him in the dirt at the earliest opportunity. He couldn't even really blame it on those hoodlums at the convention – his hip had been acting up long before they had arrived on the scene. Mind you, the glass fragments hadn't helped, but … but he knew in his core that the hip was beyond repair. Try as he might, he couldn't see a way out of Michael replacing the cranky joint.

But he was ecstatic to be moving again, happy to be back on his own two feet, gimpy though he was. He'd be fine. Just _fine_.

After a couple of close calls getting up the stoop ("One foot _at a time_ , Rabbit!" grumbled The Spine) Rabbit was led by Connie into the comfort of her home, followed by The Jon and the rest of the band - apart from The Spine.

Taking a moment away from Rabbit-herding duty, he stopped and turned back, pausing on the stoop to look out at the desert and the huge, darkened sky. He pondered for a second or two, and then stepped back down onto the yard and strode away from the house, passing under the canopy, across the lonely road and up an incline into the desert proper. Away from the soft lights of the house the sky became blue-black night swept with the glittering drift of billions of stars. Only the lone sentinels that were the Joshua trees and cacti jutted against the starlight, and The Spine stood, darkling-tall and majestic, absorbed by the night. Turning his face to the heavens, his visage was star-silver, only his optics shadowed by the brim of his hat. Their green was that of emerald-opal, sparking faint mirrored trails of cobalt and fire, echoes of the shooting stars flaring in incandescent streams off the shoulders of Orion.

The silence was profound.

He stood still, bathed in star-glow, allowing his neural circuits to calm and his chassis to stop trembling. No-one had noticed – or if they had, they had not mentioned it. He could feel the misfires in his spine and joints … indications that he was beginning to malfunction. Sparks of discomfort ran along his arms and legs from his back, and his neck was beginning to glitch. His head tic'd imperceptibly. He desperately needed to refill his boiler and then power down for a few hours. Two or three would do at a pinch and allow him to at least recover a little and stave off malfunctions for a while longer.

He didn't know how long he could keep doing this. 116 years of being good ol' Spine … the responsible one. The Straight Guy. The one Rabbit and The Jon ganged up on and teased unmercifully on stage, the laughter coming thick and fast and joyous from thrilled audiences, and he didn't mind because he loved to entertain.

Oh, there were moments when he let himself go – usually on stage when he was high on music and his core sang to him, but those moments were getting less and less over the years. He sighed. Maybe … maybe he was just getting to be a crabby old robot. But he _had_ to take care of his brothers, make sure they were safe, well and happy. He couldn't help it – it was the way he was built, and he had never – _ever_ – shirked that responsibility. And anyway, he couldn't do anything else … because he loved his brothers, and they loved him. But they had almost lost Rabbit, and it had been _his fault_ because he had not taken enough care. The guilt ate at his Blue Matter core and wouldn't let go.

The Spine took a breath and sighed again, deeper this time, steam trickling from his lips into the cool night air. Once more he looked to the stars, their lives boiling away to nothing in their eons of existence, and suddenly he felt very small and insignificant. Leaning back against a nearby Joshua tree, he crossed his arms and gazed upwards, and lost himself to infinity.

And after a while, it was the stars alone that witnessed the single, shadow-dark tear that trickled down a silvered cheek.

TBC


	8. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

The Spine wandered quietly back to Connie's house an hour later, trying his best to be as unobtrusive as possible – not an easy task for a nigh-on seven-feet-tall silver robot wearing a fedora. Surprisingly, no-one commented on his sudden disappearance, and the only reaction was from The Jon, who caught his eye and smiled gently at his big brother.

Sam and Steve were involved in a good-natured duel with two sticks of celery ("Take THAT, dastardly villain!"), Sam being the bad guy on account of the magnificence of his moustache. Rabbit was shouting pointless instructions at Steve while also sitting at the kitchen table with The Jon peeling carrots and potatoes. The Spine fervently hoped Connie didn't mind her potatoes looking like goats having a bad hair day, and winced at the idea of his two brothers being allowed anywhere near potato peelers. The last time that had happened back at Walter Manor, the shrubs in the huge garden had gone on strike and even now there were rumours of secret shrubbery meetings to discuss new union rules on the use of potato peelers as a form of topiary execution. Out-and-out rebellion had been mentioned several times.

Michael sat on a chair by the door and had his head buried in the innards of an old portable television, muttering happily to himself. Television repair was a simple and blessed relief after trying to deal with Rabbit and his non-compliance in the upgrade department.

Connie hummed to herself as she puttered around the old, roomy kitchen with its huge range and creaky cupboards. It was decorated with colourful wall hangings and more of her bits of metal artwork … a clockwork owl here … a tiny, ethereal wind-chime there. A very old sofa and recliner chair sat in a corner, and the cheerful whitewashed walls glowed gold and red from the strings of tiny coloured lights draped over the array of photographs hung haphazardly about the place. The warmth and love washed over The Spine like a balm.

Wordlessly filling a pitcher with water, Connie grabbed a large mug and handed them to The Spine. Then she grasped his elbow, steered him to the recliner chair and indicated to him to sit down. When he did so, she bent down, patted his arm and raised an eyebrow.

"All right, son, you need to get that water down you. And when it's empty I'll get you more, y'hear me?"

The Spine protested.

"Ma'am, that's kind of you, but I have to get the rooms organised and – "

"Nuh-uh," said Connie, shaking her head. "Already organised. You and your brothers're stayin' here in the house – don't worry, I got plenty of room – and the boys are headin' out to the motel rooms. That way everyone can spread out and get some proper rest. Y'all are wore out."

"But – "

"Can it, big guy – my house, my rules."

"'Can it!' That was a PUN!" chortled Rabbit, tastefully whittling his carrot into a smaller carrot.

The Spine half-heartedly tried to get out of the recliner, but Connie's hand on his arm didn't move, and gently but effectively forbade him to do anything else but sit and relax.

"I-" He protested.

"Sit." Connie ordered.

"What if –"

"Ain't gonna happen."

"There's stuff I have to – "

"Nope. There isn't. Live with it." Connie smiled.

The Spine, for once in his life, sulked.

"S'not fair," he muttered.

Connie smiled triumphantly.

"Son, who said life was fair?" She relented a little when she saw how exhausted this tall, rather serious young man was. She eased herself down on a footstool in front of The Spine. "You gotta rest, boy. I don't care if you're all metal an' steam. Robot or human, you have to take time out or else you're gonna seize up. You'll get sick, Michael says. Your innards ain't made to run forever on nothin' but fresh air. Water for your boiler? Is that right?"

The Spine looked at her, and then nodded silently.

"So drink," she continued, feeling the faint tremble in The Spine's arm. "Because I think you're already not doin' so well, an' I just won't allow it, y'hear? Not on my watch."

The Spine's answer was a gentle, wordless murmur as he filled the big mug with cool, fresh water and drank it all in one gulp. His relief as the water splashed into his boiler was almost palpable. Filling the mug once more, he drank it down, a little more slowly this time.

Connie once again patted his arm reassuringly.

"Better?" she asked.

"Much," he admitted.

"Good. We'll be havin' supper in a little while. In the meantime, you just sit here, nice and quiet. I got everything in hand, and all you need to do is fill that boiler and rest easy."

By the time supper was ready, Steve had beaten the villainous Sam in a fair celery fight, the vegetables were the most weirdly artistic Connie had ever seen, her old portable TV now worked beautifully, getting strange-but-wonderful channels she had never received before, and The Spine was stretched out on the recliner, powered down, fedora tilted forward over his optics.

Rabbit limped over to peer at him closely. The Jon joined him, peeking under the fedora.

"Should we wake him for supper?"

Rabbit shrugged. "I d-dunno. He looks kinda peaceful, huh."

"Yep." The Jon thought for a second, and then smiled conspiratorially. "Hey, Rabbit – we could draw – "

"You're doin' nothin', boys," Connie said, "he's all in. Let him sleep. You robots don't really _have_ to eat, right? So it's not gonna do him any harm to miss the food?"

"He'll be fine, Connie. All of them can eat, but they don't need to." Michael joined them to check on The Spine. "It can be messy though – un-gooping oil lines covered in ice cream isn't my favourite job, I have to say." He shuddered.

The Spine didn't quite fit the recliner. Long limbs were draped carelessly in all directions, feet hanging off the end of the footrest. His left arm dangled, fingers brushing the Navajo rug. Rabbit leaned over, careful of his wonky hip, and very gently lifted The Spine's errant arm and placed it neatly over his brother's chassis. The silver automaton murmured something under his breath and nestled deeper into the overstuffed upholstery.

"What'd he say?" queried Rabbit.

"'Jelly beans'" answered The Jon, matter-of-factly.

"Ah," Rabbit nodded, understanding. "Figures."

There was a thick, warm throw-rug on the sofa next to The Spine, and Connie draped it over the sleeping automaton.

"C'mon, fellas. Let's leave him to catch up on his rest an' we'll go eat. If you boys eat all of your veg, I got ice cream an' fudge brownies for dessert."

"ICE CREAM PARADE!" echoed loudly through the house.

The Spine muttered 'ostrich slippers' and twitched quietly. He didn't wake for the rest of the evening.

* * *

In the deep of the night, he awoke to terrified yells.

The Spine blinked sluggishly, trying to power up as quickly as he could, knowing something was dreadfully wrong.

"Rab … Rabbit … I'm coming …"

He struggled to get his limbs under control and to lever himself out of the recliner, needing to get to his brother.

Even though he wasn't completely awake, the wireless telegraph in his head was flashing glimpses of mangled limbs, terrible, half-human … _things_ … riddled with Green Matter, absorbed by parasitic wires and tubes invading what was left of their bodies, all buried deep within the copper carcasses of great metal war elephants.

A hand dropped onto his shoulder, making him jump in surprise. A soft voice whispered in the darkness.

"Stay put, Spine honey – I got it. You rest up. You're no good to him if you don't take care of yourself. Let me deal with it, okay?"

The Spine looked up at Connie, standing beside the recliner in an old dressing gown, her hair loosely plaited down her back. She was barefoot, leaning on her cane and silhouetted against the glow of a tiny nightlight.

"It's Rabbit," he replied, urgency rife in his voice. "Nightmares. He gets them sometimes. We all do," he added bitterly.

"I know, sweetie." Without waiting for his reply, Connie limped to the nearest bedroom along a short corridor adjacent to the kitchen. Rabbit had left the door slightly ajar, and The Spine could already hear The Jon trying to calm Rabbit down. He cursed himself for not waking instantly, but he knew that he wasn't up to par – his systems were still slow and slightly unresponsive due to lack of water and overwork.

Even as he tried to stand, the horrified yells stopped, and he heard Connie's voice, soft and low, soothing and gentle.

"It's all right, son … I gotcha … don't worry, you're not alone … Jon's here, see? Spine's just in the livin' area, close by."

"Horrible … horrible …" The Jon, sniffling, obviously getting the same images via the telegraph that The Spine was seeing.

"You boys share everything, huh?" asked Connie. "Even your nightmares."

"Y-y-yeah," Rabbit stammered throatily. "C-c-c-can't stop 'em sometimes. Sorry."

"Shhhh now. It's all right. It happens. You okay now? Can I get ya anythin'? Some water?"

As he listened, The Spine sank shakily back onto the recliner, allowing his long body to relax back into the upholstery.

Rabbit didn't answer for a moment or two, and then The Spine heard his brother ask Connie;

"I-is The Spine okay? Is he still p-p-powered down?"

"He's fine, sweet pea. He woke up when you yelled, but I made him stay where he was. D'you want me to go get him?"

Rabbit was quick to answer.

"Oh, oh no. H-h-he's been doin' too much worryin.' He worries all the time. He, uh, he's the _responsible_ one. This time he's made himself sick, y'know," he said, his voice steadying.

"Miss Connie?"

"Yes, Jon?"

The Spine heard scuffling as The Jon arranged himself at the bottom of Rabbit's bed, settling in as he so often did on nights when one of them had a bad dream or there was a thunderstorm.

"Could … could you tell us a story?"

"Oh, yeah!" chirped Rabbit, now much more settled and recovered.

The Spine heard Connie's soft chuckle. He knew she was loving every moment of having someone to fuss over. He had to admit he was also enjoying being the object of Connie's instinctive futzing. He snuggled into the wonderfully comfortable recliner, easing his still-slightly-sparking joints. His back was beginning to feel much better, although his systems were still weak.

"Okaaaay … let me think …" Connie cogitated for a moment. "I know! How about the story of Fox and Rabbit? It's an ol' Jicarilla Apache legend."

"A story about Rabbit?" squeaked The Jon.

"That's the best kind!" Rabbit declared proudly.

"All righty then," Connie agreed. "'Fox and Rabbit' it is." The Spine heard the creak of the bed as she sat beside the two automatons. She cleared her throat and began.

"One day Fox met a Rabbit who was sewin' a sack. 'What're you gonna to do with that sack?' asked Fox. 'I'm makin' this coat to protect myself from being killed by that awful hail we're goin' to have today,' replied Rabbit …"

The Spine closed his photo-receptors and listened in, feeling more relaxed than he had been in months. As the story ended and Connie made sure Rabbit and The Jon were settled, The Spine began to drift, slowly allowing himself to power down. He was pondering the idea of getting an old recliner for the Hall of Wires at home and wondering how he was going to stop QWERTY from taking it over as her own, when the now-familiar pat on the shoulder roused him slightly.

"Are they okay?" he murmured drowsily.

Connie gently replaced the throw-rug over the tall automaton. "Yeah, son, they're both fine now. You jus' get some rest an' I'll see you in the mornin.'" She was about to head back to her own bed when she paused. "Oh, an' Spine?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"I'd stop by the bathroom first thing an' wash off that fancy moustache you got there. Looks like somebody got to ya with a pen while you were sleepin.'

Dammit.

He sighed sleepily. It would wait until the morning.

"G'night, Connie."

"'Night, son."

And as he drifted into stasis, he could have sworn he felt a goodnight kiss on his forehead.

 

TBC


	9. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

The morning dawned bright, clear and breathtakingly beautiful. The pink glow of a desert sunrise illuminated the dark hills and cast golden light over the stark, lonely landscape. The distant cry of a buzzard sang through the growing warmth, and the crystal shimmer of dew lit the cacti and Joshua trees until they glittered like diamonds in the morning sun.

The Spine awoke to the smell of good coffee and Connie softly singing Michelle Phillips' part in 'Dedicated to the One I Love' as she cracked eggs for an omelette and prepared breakfast muffins. He watched quietly from the comfort of the recliner, reluctant to move. His back was feeling far less problematic, and the misfires in his circuits were reduced dramatically. He was still far from being in tip-top condition, but he was, at least, functional and able to continue until he got home to Walter Manor and the Hall of Wires where he could relax and completely power down.

"I remember when that song came out," he said dozily, still tucked under the throw-rug. His photo-receptors blinked sleepily.

Connie turned, a smile on her face. She was already dressed and ready for the day, her eyes bright and full of humour. The Spine thought how beautiful she was.

"Mornin' son. How are ya this ayem? Want some breakfast?"

The Spine stirred himself and slowly sat up, rubbing his face and stretching. He winced as his vertebrae cracked, but he _did_ feel much improved.

Connie limped over and handed him a damp washcloth and gestured at her own upper lip. "Moustache,' she whispered. "You don't want those two young hoodlums you call brothers to spend the rest of the day cacklin' like a couple of turkey hens 'cause they played a joke on ya, now do ya?"

The Spine brought his fingers to his upper lip and they came away smeared in black. Sighing, he stood up stiffly and wandered over to a small wall mirror. Studying his reflection he shook his head, perusing the extravagant villain's moustache, complete with pointy upturned ends, drawn stylishly upon his upper lip. He instantly knew by the deftly-drawn swirl of the moustache who was the perpetrator of this particular artistic extravaganza.

Rabbit.

Scrubbing vigorously with the washcloth, he managed to remove all traces of the moustache just in time, as The Jon appeared out of his room and shuffled along the short corridor into the kitchen. He was wearing his dinosaur pyjama bottoms and his beloved 'I'm a Real Boy' teeshirt, a Christmas gift from Rabbit. He was clutching a rather battered plushy Wile Y. Coyote to his chest.

It was obvious to The Spine that his baby brother wasn't quite awake yet. His optics were half-closed and he was only wearing one slipper. He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and blinked twice at The Spine.

"Mip," he said.

The Spine raised an eyebrow and hmmmm'd.

"Mornin', The Jon. Are you okay there, champ?"

"Pinatas," answered The Jon blearily.

The Spine nodded.

"Okaaaaayy … " He took a resigned breath. "I guess this is where I go freshen up and get into some clean clothes." He turned to Connie, who was standing watching the two robots. "Just leave'm there, Connie. He'll wake up properly in a minute or two." Ruffling The Jon's curls he disappeared into the bathroom.

Connie chuckled and limped forward, giving The Jon a motherly hug.

"C'mon, sweetie – come an' sit down an' keep an ol' lady company for a little while until ya wake up properly. I see ya found Acme." She gestured at the stuffed toy. "He used to belong to my daughter when she was little."

The Jon turned a sleepy face to Connie.

"Lonely."

"You're lonely?" Connie queried. "Oh, hon, ya have your brothers an' – "

"Acme." The Jon held up the soft toy. "He's lonely."

"Oh," Connie replied, understanding. "Gotcha. Well, I guess he must be. Cathy hasn't been home in a long time." Her voice softened. "A _long_ time," she repeated sadly.

The Jon, still half-asleep, opened his arms for another morning hug which Connie duly gave him.

Within minutes, the human members of Steam Powered Giraffe wandered in for their breakfast, and before Connie knew it, her kitchen was full of laughter, good-natured insults and hungry young men. The Spine joined them, feeling much refreshed, and last of all, Rabbit gimped through from his room, looking dapper in his striped pants and all _six_ of his belts.

"My," said Connie admiringly, "Don't you look spiffy this mornin'!"

Rabbit preened.

"One must a-always look one's best, dontcha think? E-Especially when there's a beautiful lady present. That's what Pappy always said."

Connie blushed, and shyly smacked Rabbit gently on the shoulder.

Steve was not to be outdone.

"Hey! I'll have you know I put on my best bandanna this morning!" He got out of his chair and knelt on one knee before Connie, grasping her hand (complete with eggy whisk) and kissing the back of it with genteel care.

Sam clutched both hands to his breast and gave a dramatic sigh.

"Oh, the pain! My heart will surely break!" he uttered in his most angst-ridden voice, "Spurned! Spurned, I tell you!"

Michael had too much of a fit of the giggles to say anything, so he just stood up and wrapped Connie in a Michael-Hug.

The Spine laughed to himself as he sat quietly with a good cup of coffee – something he loved to do, even though the tannin didn't really do much for his boiler. He also found a local newspaper lying on one of the worktops, and within minutes was happily perusing articles about sheep-rustlers and bargain-basement sales of bulk cattle cake. He only appeared from behind it when Rabbit turned the conversation to moustaches. The Spine peered over the top of the newspaper, dropping it low enough for Rabbit to see that he was, indeed, moustache-less. Smug Rabbit suddenly became Crestfallen Rabbit. Foiled again.

The Jon just sat silently at the table, looking somewhat self-absorbed.

Breakfast was a leisurely affair. Everyone was relaxed, rested up to a point, and feeling ready to face the day. After helping Connie to clear up and wash dishes, it was decided that now was a good time to sort out the remaining wind-chimes and flower baskets, and then replace all of the fallen items back onto the store shelves. It was the least they could do, they all decided.

The Spine tapped The Jon on the shoulder.

"Okay, chief, let's go. You have to get dressed and then we'll hang up Connie's stuff, all right?"

"Huh?" The Jon blinked.

The Spine frowned.

"Jon, snap out of it. We have work to do!"

The Jon blinked again, slowly.

"It's coming, Spine."

"What?" The Spine asked, puzzled. "What's coming? What are you talking about?"

The Jon shrugged, optics clicking as his photo-receptors blinked rapidly. It was the first time he had looked fully awake since he had powered up.

"I dunno," he said blankly, and then he smiled shyly up at his brother.

The Spine shook his head, mystified. But then again, being mystified was fairly normal when dealing with The Jon.

"Oh … never mind. Let's get going."

* * *

Within an hour The Spine and The Jon, with Steve's help, had re-hung every single one of the wind-chimes and flower baskets. After a couple of artistic tweaks by The Jon, they headed over to the store where Michael and Sam were hard at work replacing fallen cans of carrots on shelves and tidying up a display of cat munchies.

As everyone worked around the store, Rabbit sat beside the till as he wasn't allowed to help out. First of all, he admired the clutter and variety of goods Connie sold in her tiny store, shelves piled high with amazingly interesting things like ear-taggers for cows (Rabbit thought the bright yellow numbered tags most decorative) and plastic whirligigs for gardens, light bulbs and an infinite number of strange agricultural hand implements that Rabbit had no idea what they were for. They looked excitingly dangerous.

But after twenty minutes he yawned noisily. There were only so many scary unknown agricultural implements to get excited about, and he was rapidly descending into boredom. He counted the light bulbs. Boring. He whirled a whirligig. Even _more_ boring. He wrote a ballad in his head. It took him eight minutes (because, he decided, he was awesome that way), and then he sighed. Nobody took any notice. He sighed again, this time adding a 'yak-yak-yak' on the end, hoping somebody would complain. He was ignored. Even Connie was too busy to check and see that he was all right.

He idly looked around to see if there was something he had missed that would engage his attention.

Ah-HAH! He perked up immediately. Along the wall behind him was an untidy line of framed photographs, and to his great delight, they were all skewed. Here was his job for the day! He would straighten the pictures! If he was careful and did a good job, Connie would call him 'sweetheart' again and he might even get another hug!

And so he set to work, spending a great deal of time making sure each photograph was exactly level, and also taking great care not to push his damaged hip too far. But as he became absorbed in his task, he didn't notice that everything in the store was finally back in its accustomed place.

Connie was thrilled. She clasped The Spine's arm, hugging it.

"Spine, sweetie, thank you so much! Thanks, all of you! It would have taken me days on my own to get everythin' back in shape."

Sam put his arm around her.

"Anything for you, Connie. You are one amazing lady, you know that?"

The Jon agreed, hat bobbling as he nodded vigorously.

"Can we keep Miss Connie, Spine, huh? Can we? Puhleeeze?"

The Spine smiled down at Connie, her free arm still linked in his.

"Well, Jon, I think that's up to Connie, don't you think?"

Connie broke into a full, rich laugh.

"Jon, you are a joy!" She looked around at expectant faces. "My boys," she murmured. "All my beautiful boys. I know you gotta go home today, but I tell ya, I'm gonna miss ya somthin' crazy."

"We'll be back, Connie, I promise you that," smiled Michael. "Bussie will bring us this way as often as she can, I think."

Connie frowned, puzzled.

"Bussie?"

"Our bus," continued Steve. "She, ah, seems to have a mind of her own when it comes to which roads we travel."

"Well, I for one am glad she does," Connie said. "She sounds like a bus after my own heart. Now you boys make sure you drive safe, y'hear me? An' you let me know ya got home okay. I'll be frettin' m'self into an early grave iffen ya don't!"

"We will, Connie, we promise," smiled Steve, dropping a kiss onto the top of Connie's head. She patted his cheek affectionately, making his smile turn into a brilliant grin.

"Okay," said Michael reluctantly. "I suppose we'd better go pack up and get going. I wish we could stay though. I'm gonna miss your cooking, and … well … everything."

There was a soft chorus of agreement.

Connie had to shoo them out of the store before she broke down and burst into tears.

She didn't see many people, although she had her regular customers, but up until now she had liked it that way. She loved the desert, and she loved her home. She had enough of a pension to live on, and didn't need a big clientele to survive. She didn't have much, but she didn't owe a thing to anyone and was content. Until, that is, Steam Powered Giraffe had burst into her life, bringing chaos, noise and a whole passle of love straight into her heart. She was going to miss them desperately.

But in the meantime she had them for another hour or so until they had packed everything back into Bussie. She would treasure every moment.

As they filed out of the store, she turned and spotted Rabbit. She frowned. He was just standing there, as still as she had ever seen him, gazing at one of the photographs hanging on the wall. The intensity of that gaze intrigued her, and she limped over to see what he found so enthralling.

"Rabbit? Rabbit, hon, are you okay?"

He didn't answer. Now Connie was worried.

"Rabbit?" She touched his shoulder. Rabbit didn't move. "Son? What's wrong?"

He started slightly and turned his head to look at her. His mismatched optics blinked out of sync, and she realised this extraordinary copper being was in shock. She glanced at the photograph that had stopped Rabbit in his tracks.

It was a small, black-and-white snapshot of five young men in combat uniform, leaning against a jeep adorned with a couple of cannibalized .50-calibre machine guns. They looked world-weary and battle-hardened, but they were grinning like idiots, arms looped over each other's shoulders and goofing it up for the camera.

Connie smiled sadly.

"Vietnam, January 1968," she murmured.

"Th-Th-The Tet Offensive," whispered Rabbit. He turned his gaze back to the photograph, mesmerized.

Connie nodded. "Yep. You got it." She pointed to a tall young man in the centre of the group, grinning widely from beneath his helmet. "That's my Dan, right there." Her eyes turned to Rabbit for a moment. "Sergeant Dan Malone. He was 26 years old when this picture was taken."

"U.S. Marines," Rabbit said more to himself than to Connie. "Khe Sanh."

"You know about it?" Connie queried. "You read about Khe Sanh?"

Rabbit closed his photo-receptors for a long moment, and then took a deep, deep breath.

"Couldn't save 'em. Tried. C-C-Couldn't get to 'em in time."

Connie peered at him, confused.

"What d'you mean, sweetie? I don' understand – " Her eyes widened. "Oh! Oh my lord!" The realization hit her like a brick wall. "You … you were there, weren't you? You were at Khe Sanh!"

Rabbit nodded wordlessly.

Connie reeled and had to sit down on a packing case she used as a seat behind the till.

"How …?" She stared at Rabbit, trying hard to make sense of it – and then she remembered. "Hell, I shoulda known! The Mamas and the Papas!"

"What?" Rabbit blinked as though coming out of a dream. "M-M-Mamas and the Papas?"

"Uh-huh. Spine said somethin' this mornin' about rememberin' a song they did back in the day. 'Dedicated to the One I Love' came out in 'sixty-seven, the year after Dan was drafted."

Rabbit let loose a tiny smile.

"Yeah. I remember that too. W-W-We used ta sing it to the guys in our platoon. Just for, uh, j-j-j-just for fun."

Connie looked up at him, trying to take it all in. She finally had to ask.

"Sweetie … just how old _are_ you?"

Rabbit gave a tic'ing grin and tried to be cheerful. "Oh, we were built back in 1896. Y-Y-Y-You know … back when it was still illegal for women to read an' write an' all the men dressed like Mister Peanut!"

"Good grief!" Connie did the calculations. "You … you're 116 years old." She shook her head in wonderment. "It never occurred ta me that y'all were as old as that."

"I'm the oldest," Rabbit explained. "Then The Spine, an' then The Jon. He's our baby brother." Rabbit looked weary and worn. "We were all at Khe Sanh. An' Omaha Beach. But that was jus' me. Spine was in th' Navy, an' Jon flew with the Air Force in 1941. A-A-An' we went to help out in the Argonne forest in 1918." Rabbit trembled. "Th-That was a tough one."

Connie eased herself to her feet. Her boys. Her deeply-loved boys had seen – and probably done – terrible, unspeakable things in the name of human kind, and they had paid for it. Over a century of warfare, and they had seen it all. No wonder Rabbit yelled with terror in the night.

She slipped her arm around Rabbit's belted waist and squeezed, trying to comfort him. Rabbit draped his arm over her shoulders and she leaned in to rest her head against his chest, listening to the clockwork hum of his existence.

"My Dan … " she said quietly, "My Dan an' his buddies died two days after that picture was taken. He never got to meet his daughter."

"I'm s-s-s-sorry, Miz Connie. I'm so … " Rabbit's voice broke. "We couldn't …"

"Shhhhh … " Connie silenced him gently. "Not your fault, son. _Neve_ r your fault. It's just … it's just sometimes … life is crap. That's it. Nothin' ya can do. So stop blamin' yourself, y'hear?"

Rabbit didn't answer. But they stood together in silence and looked at the five young men whose lives ended so abruptly and so violently so long ago in a faraway land. They looked, and they grieved, and finally began to let their shared pain heal the raw wounds of loss.

TBC


	10. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

Outside in the expanse of yard in front of the motel rooms, Michael Reed was having some pain of his own. Bussie had, in her unfathomable wisdom, decided at some point during the night to suffer from not just one, but _two_ flat tires.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" Michael ranted. The band (minus Rabbit) had just spent the past hour loading Bussie up with bits and pieces of luggage, a whole batch of sandwiches for the journey (courtesy of Connie) and a couple of cases of bottled water for boilers and thirsty humans.

It was only when Michael decided to fill Bussie's tank that he discovered her devious plot to stay with Connie. And not only that, but Bussie had managed to arrange it so that it was the inner tires of the rear axle doubles that had failed.

Replacing them would take _hours_ – especially as their two spares were stored at the back of the luggage space. Everything would have to be unloaded. Again.

Michael, Sam and The Spine set to and began hauling out luggage, but Steve had other plans. Something had been niggling him, and knowing that he would just be in the way during the tire-replacement operation (Sam was already getting under Michael and The Spine's feet), he decided to put his plan into action.

Digging around at the back of Connie's store, he found what he was looking for. He hauled out a long, aluminium ladder and dragged it around to the front of the canopy, leaning it against the edge. He then rummaged through his sound kit, now lying in a haphazard pile on the ground beside Bussie and three frustrated and argumentative members of Steam Powered Giraffe, and pulled out a large roll of silver duct tape. He added a pocket knife, a small pack of screwdrivers, some screws and a roll of fine wire. Loading them all into a small tool bag, he set off up the ladder, and in a few minutes was standing on top of the canopy, looking out over the desert and the distant hills.

He also looked at the plaster triceratops.

The triceratops looked back. It glowered at him silently.

Beside the triceratops was its broken horn, and it was this that had been bugging Steve.

Watching his step on the flat, dusty canopy, he carefully picked his way over to the plaster beast and retrieved the errant horn. Fitting the two broken ends together, he nodded, happy to discover that it would be a simple fix. He straightened up and looked the triceratops square in the eye.

"Now listen up, my friend. I'm gonna fix your horn back on so that you don't look such a dork. A triceratops with only two horns is dumb, okay? Don't mess with me while I do it, because I deal with dragons every damn' day, and you don't even come close to how tough _that_ is, so just keep still and I'll have you as good as new in no time."

He didn't like to mention that the dragons were only inches-high models.

The triceratops seemed agreeable to the proposal, so Steve hunkered down and set to work.

* * *

The Jon was uneasy. He had felt … _detached_ … since he had woken up, but he couldn't say why. The situation with Bussie's tires meant something, but no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't figure it out.

He had wanted to speak to The Spine about it, because he was the expert on just about everything, but his big brother was so very busy helping Michael with Bussie. He watched for a few minutes as Michael unpacked the tool kit and The Spine heaved the heavy tire jack out of its storage space.

The Spine spotted The Jon standing silently in the yard, and he stopped for a moment, the huge tire jack held effortlessly in one hand.

"You okay, sport?" he asked, a little concerned.

The Jon honestly didn't know if he was okay or not, so he shrugged wordlessly.

The Spine nodded. Sometimes the golden automaton could be more than a tad enigmatic.

"Well, you go have a think about it, and we'll talk when Michael and I have fixed the tires, alright? We have the whole trip home to figure it out, bud. It'll be fine, I'm sure."

The Jon thought about it some more, and then shrugged again. "Okay."

Sam ambled by and dropped a hand on The Jon's shoulder.

"I dropped my moustache comb in my room. Seein' as I'm not _wanted_ here – " he glared dramatically at The Spine and Michael, "I'm just going to have a look around for it. Wanna help out?"

The Jon thought about it – a Moustache Comb Hunt sounded fun and certainly hanging out with Sam always ended up with mayhem, but he could feel his koi swimming nervously around the void in his chest.

"Um … no thanks, Sam. Gotta do some thinking. Spine said it would help."

"Oh. Okay. Help with what?"

For the third time in as many minutes, The Jon shrugged.

"Dunno," he replied.

Sam looked at The Spine who raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He had no idea what was going on in The Jon's head either.

"Right," Sam continued. " I'll go look for my comb. You go do some thinkin,' Jon. It'll make you feel better."

The Spine had already turned away to assist Michael who was struggling to loosen the lug nuts on the first set of tires. Michael was doing a _lot_ of cursing under his breath.

"Let me do that Michael …" The Spine dropped the jack and crouched down beside his friend, taking hold of the tire iron and exerting a tiny amount of pressure. The lug nut broke free.

As Sam headed off to commence the Great Moustache Comb Adventure, The Jon made a decision. Turning on his heel, he headed past the canopy and unconsciously mimicking The Spine's foray the night before, he crossed the road and headed up the incline into the desert.

He looked around for a Thinking Spot, and finally settled on a large rock beside a huge old Joshua tree. Sitting himself down, he looked out over the desert and the distant hills, and then his gaze turned to Connie's world … this little world of love disguised as an Emporium (The Jon loved that word – it sounded so improbable) and motel (with gas). He could see The Spine and Michael working away at Bussie's tires, The Spine rolling the first replacement wheel over to the mechanic.

He watched Steve as he knelt beside the triceratops, high above the ground on the v-shaped canopy, concentrating on making the dinosaur as presentable as he could. The Jon was very happy about that – Steve understood that the triceratops had hated having one of his horns broken for the _longest_ time.

His optics turned towards the little store, and he thought about Rabbit and Connie, both hurting, but each helping the other to heal. The Jon knew that the wounds would never go away, and the scars would run deep, but in the end Connie and her Rabbit would face the world with less pain.

The Jon loved Connie. He loved her for her hugs and her care, and he loved her because she accepted life for what it was. He loved her because she loved him, and she loved both of his brothers. And she loved Michael, Steve and Sam just as much. He wasn't quite sure where she had kept all of this love for so long, but The Jon was absolutely convinced that for as long as Connie lived, she would have plenty of Love to give with more to spare.

Which was _why_ he couldn't settle and his koi was upset. There was something coming, he knew, and he also knew it was going to be _bad_. Was this why Bussie's tires had thrown a conniption? Were they all supposed to stay with Connie? Was it not safe for them to continue their journey? He couldn't figure it out, no matter how hard he tried.

"Well, Mister Tree," he said to the Joshua tree beside him, "I suppose I'll just have to watch out for everyone."

The Joshua tree said nothing, but listened intently.

"Because, y'see, they don't know what's coming." The Jon sighed. "Actually, neither do I."

If the Joshua tree could have nodded in agreement it would have done so. But as Joshua trees were not known for their ability to speak, it stayed silent, waiting to see what this strange golden being was going to say next.

"I guess, Mister Tree, that I need to do some more thinking, huh."

The Jon shifted to sit cross-legged on the rock, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. He looked confused.

The Joshua tree settled its roots a tad deeper into the ground and waited to see what was going to happen next.

* * *

Rabbit was telling Connie all about Jenny.

"She was sooooo beautiful, Miz Connie! I-I-I-I could toast, like, six bagels at once." His face fell. "But I dropped her eight minutes after I bought her. Sh-Sh-Shoulda bought that warranty, huh."

Connie made sympathetic noises and gave him a gentle hug.

"Hurts, don't it? That first love."

Rabbit snuggled up to Connie as they sat together on the big packing case. He did so like the fuss Miz Connie made over him, and she _understood_. She knew that being in love was _tough_.

Connie chuckled. "My first love was a spotty little guy named Harold McCartney. He was the most borin,' self-important oaf in th' school … but I thought the world of him. He never looked at me once. I spent weeks in my room, feelin' sorry for myself."

Rabbit gave her his most piteous look, and Connie melted, although she knew very well what he was doing. But she couldn't resist. She cupped his cheek, patting it gently.

"Never mind, sweetheart. Ya still have the memories. Jenny lives on in here – " She moved her hand from his cheek to his chest, right over his Blue Matter core.

Rabbit placed his own hand over Connie's.

"You're in here too, Miz Connie. I-I-If I had a heart, you'd be part of it. Just like Pappy."

"Oh, Rabbit, sweetie – of course you have a heart! It don't have to be flesh an' blood. I know you have a heart just like mine – it's just made different, is all." She looked into those odd, mismatched optics and nodded. "Son, I'm honoured I have a place in there along with your Pappy an' Jenny. I couldn't think of a nicer place to be."

Rabbit beamed.

Connie gave him another quick hug, and then levered herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane.

"C'mon, boy – I guess we have to face the fact ya gotta go soon. Let's see how Spine and Michael are gettin' on with those tires."

Rabbit sighed noisily. He was secretly dreading the trip home. Although he loved living at Walter Manor with his brothers, he really didn't want to leave Connie. Having her near made him feel better. She loved him and coddled him and called him 'sweetheart,' and she really didn't mind if he was clumsy and glitchy and stammering. She soothed him if he had nightmares and had taken care of him when he was sick and hurt. In fact, Rabbit decided, he was _still_ sick and hurt, and he _needed_ her. He knew that she would sit with him, and tell him stories and feed him ice cream whenever he asked, because that's what Connie did. And when she wasn't taking care of him, she would take care of The Spine and The Jon too.

" … _mumble_ … " he mumbled.

Connie saw his distress.

"I know, sweetie … I know. I'm gonna miss ya too. But you'll come back to see me, wontcha?"

Rabbit carefully arose from his seat, his gimpy hip protesting.

"A-As soon as we can, Miz Connie. I promise."

He was about to offer his arm to Connie to escort her from the building (Pappy had, after all, raised him to be a gentleman in these matters) when he stopped for a moment. Rabbit tilted his head to one side as though listening. He sensed … _something_.

"Rabbit?" Connie looked up at him, puzzled.

The copper automaton swayed on his feet, as though about to fall, and Connie reached out to steady him.

"Son? Son, what's – "

Rabbit shifted, his new gyros adjusting smoothly to compensate. He looked confused.

"D-D-D-Did ya feel that?"

Connie shook her head.

"Feel what?"

Rabbit turned suddenly and clasped Connie's shoulders, pulling her close.

"We gotta get out of here, Miz Connie!"

"Wha – "

Rabbit's photo-receptors widened.

"Ohmy gosh – no time! _No time_!"

* * *

The Jon's optics blinked open in a moment.

Leaping up from his Thinking Rock, he peered down at the gas station below him and the figures of friends and older brother.

_It's started._

He began to run.

* * *

The Spine was crouched beside Michael, who at this moment in time was just a pair of legs sticking out from beneath Bussie. There was quite a bit of quiet muttering and a teensy bit of cussing going on, accompanied by the occasional banging of a hammer. Michael had found a tiny stone jammed in beside the return spring on one of Bussie's drum brakes and it _just_ … _wasn't_ … _moving_.

"How's it going, Michael?"

Michael's reply wasn't repeatable in respectable company.

The Spine was about to offer some sort of helpful comment when he felt the ground faintly vibrate. It was enough for him to lose his balance slightly and he put out a hand to stop himself falling flat on his rump onto the dusty ground.

"What the …?" His optics narrowed. "Michael – get out of there."

There was an irritated sigh from beneath the bus.

"Wait a sec, Spine. Al … almost got it …"

" _Now_ , Michael!"

Without waiting for an answer, The Spine stood up, reached out and grabbed one of Michael's ankles and pulled. Hard.

The mechanic was hauled out from beneath Bussie, letting out a yelp as the rough ground bit into the skin of his back through his teeshirt. But he didn't have any time to protest as The Spine pulled him to his feet.

The Spine was already moving, dragging Michael away from Bussie and the motel rooms. Michael had no idea what was going on, but he knew that the tall automaton would not have reacted the way he did without good reason.

He heard a rumble. Turning, he saw Bussie swaying as the tire jack gave way underneath her, and she suddenly collapsed sideways and crashed to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.

"What – " he began, eyes widening in horror.

The Spine ignored him and looked towards the overhead canopy and the ladder leaning against its edge.

"Oh no." he said.

* * *

Steve Negrete was a happy bunny. He sat back on his heels, pleased with his work. The triceratops was now back to being a proper triceratops – a _three_ -horned triceratops, as it should be. It hadn't taken much effort, to be honest, but the sound engineer was tickled that the operation had been a success.

Putting his tools away in their bag, he stood up and stretched, letting cramped muscles relax after spending time being crouched beside a tatty plaster dinosaur. He looked out over the desert once again, taking in the light and shadow, the golden hills and the subtle shades of the plants and Joshua trees dotted about the landscape.

"Pretty," he said to himself. Steve put on his sunglasses against the glare and turned his face to the warmth of the sun, closing his eyes and absorbing the peace and quiet.

His world revolved around sound. For him, joy was a balanced sound system and the creation of wonder through the endless realms of music and electronic atmosphere. He loved it. It was his life, and he wouldn't ever want to change that.

But sometimes … sometimes the silence called to him. It called now, and he let his body still and absorb the quietness. As his ears attuned to the desert and the world around him, he faintly heard The Spine and Michael discussing something. Steve smiled. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he caught the tone of their discussion, warm with friendship.

This sojourn with Connie had done them all a lot of good, despite the circumstances of their meeting. This small, fragile woman had taken them in, cared for them and fed them. Her trust in them was absolute – a situation that was almost unheard-of, considering it was a lot to ask of people when faced with three walking, talking (and singing) robots. Steve revelled in Connie's love and care, and knew he would return as soon as he could.

He hmmmm'd to himself, and then, with much reluctance, decided it was time to join his friends and make ready to travel home to San Diego. Picking up his tool bag, he paused for one more moment of stillness before he descended the ladder, and looked out over the desert along the road stretching into the distance.

Five hundred yards away, with nary a rumble, the road disappeared. It collapsed into itself, a huge rift took its place, and Steve felt the canopy shudder. Before the shock could even register, the canopy began to rock and the line of the rift ran along the road towards the canopy pillars, exploding and vaporising both tarmac and the desert floor. The noise was terrifying.

The canopy split in two.

The ladder collapsed.

Steve leaped towards the triceratops, his parkour skills kicking into gear, knowing the plaster beast was securely fixed to the canopy. It was his only chance – he couldn't jump the fourteen feet to the ground. The fall would kill him.

For a couple of seconds the canopy looked as though it would fall in two intact pieces, and Steve had a sudden irrational feeling of elation. He would make it.

His luck ran out.

The canopy disintegrated beneath him, and he fell, still clinging to the triceratops.

* * *

Sam was dancing.

Humming 'Ju Ju Magic,' he twirled around the motel room, picking up a cushion here, a pillow there. Still no Moustache Comb. He stopped humming for a second, and danced on the spot, thinking where he might have last used his comb. Bathroom. Yep. That was the spot. Resuming his twirling and humming, he made his way across the room and into the small bathroom.

Looking in the mirror for a moment, he broke off his humming to greet his reflection.

"Hey there, handsome!" he crowed, and did a bit of moustache-smoothing. And there, in front of him, lying on the edge of the sink, was his Moustache Comb.

"Gotcha!" he exclaimed, picking it up. "C'mere, you sly little comb, you!"

Giving his moustache a desultory combing, he then turned to head back outside to join the band. He sobered for a moment. Like the rest of Steam Powered Giraffe, he was reluctant to leave. For all of his cheerful, hyperactive exterior, Sam Luke had a sensitive soul. He worried about his friends, and cared deeply about the stresses and tribulations they all faced every day.

This break with Connie had been … extraordinary. For the first time in ages, Sam had woken up and felt at peace. Connie seemed to have that effect on people, and he loved her for it.

He stopped for a moment, feeling desperately sad. Although they would return to see her, Sam knew he would miss her terribly. He was so deep in thought, he didn't immediately notice the earth-shattering rumble, the noise almost too low to hear but sending out a gut-churning vibration that made him dizzy.

The roof collapsed.

Chunks of flying wood and red tiles flew through the air, one of them smacking right into the side of Sam's head. Sam slammed back into the wall, disorientated and in pain. Blood ran from the deep gash above his ear, but he had enough sense left to stagger towards the door, now bright against the sunlight pouring through the gaping hole where the roof had been. He knew he had to get out of the building before the rest of it collapsed.

He didn't quite make it.

* * *

Michael was knocked off his feet.

The ground heaved in a sickening roll, and Michael struggled to regain his feet as a hand grabbed his arm and wrenched him upwards. The Spine caught him around his waist and Michael felt himself being lifted off the ground and thrown – _thrown_ – sideways as he caught a glimpse of the ground falling away to his right.

The noise was almost more than he could stand, and he couldn't get his bearings. Everything was shaking, heaving, vaporizing before his eyes, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

He hit the ground and rolled, and then managed to get onto his hands and knees, the ground pitching beneath him. Looking up, he saw The Spine staggering towards him. Behind the robot, Michael saw … his breath caught in his throat.

The canopy was falling. The huge, flat expanse of one side of the 'v' was keeling over, tilting, shuddering, disintegrating before his eyes.

Oh God.

Steve had been working on the triceratops right _there._ Right on top of the canopy.

The Spine was shouting, but Michael couldn't hear him above the din. He saw the tall automaton try to stay upright as the earth yawed, and then he was lost in a gout of dust and debris. Before Michael do a damn' thing, something heavy smashed into his side. He felt bones break, and then … nothing.

* * *

The Jon ran faster than he had ever run in his life.

As he ran the ground roiled beneath his feet, but nimble 'bot that he was, he kept going. He had to save them. He just _had to_.

And almost ran straight over the edge of an abyss. Before him, the road had gone and had been replaced by a six-feet wide crack in the earth that descended into unknown darkness.

He almost fell into the crack, but teetering on the brink, his arms flailing, he managed – _just_ – to scramble backwards to safety.

As suddenly as it had begun, the shaking stopped.

The Jon found his feet and looked wildly around, trying to see what was happening. The koi in his chest flipped wildly in terror.

Although he couldn't see much through the thick dust cloud, he knew instinctively the gas station was completely destroyed. He had seen the canopy collapse, and the motel roof fall in. He had seen The Spine and Michael run for their lives. But now he couldn't see a thing.

Even as he watched, he heard and felt another deep rumble. At first he thought it was an aftershock from the earthquake, but no … through the slowly settling dust, he watched in horror as the small store imploded as the ground finally gave way to the stress and opened up beneath it.

Rabbit and Connie were in the store, he knew for certain. The Jon had not seen them leave the building.

His family was gone.

For the first time in his long life, The Jon was completely and utterly alone.

TBC


	11. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

The Jon's normal reaction to things that confused and/or frightened him was to set up a piercing wail, which usually brought his brothers running and led to lots of "There, there, Jon … it'll be alright …" followed by a hug, or if it was The Spine, a reassuring pat on the shoulder. If he was lucky, he got an ice cream out of it or even a rerun of _Pinocchio_ with a really big tub of popcorn.

This was _not_ one of those situations.

The Jon stood on one side of a chasm, staring in horror at the utter devastation on the other side. He had absolutely no idea what to do next, and for long moments just stood still, his hands running nervously up and down his suspenders.

There was no-one around to help him. His brothers were just … _not there_. The Jon's photo-receptors blinked rapidly as he tried so hard to cope with the very real nightmare before him, and to think …

 _Yes_! _That was it_! The Spine was right … he had to _think_ his way through it.

The Jon wasn't a thinker as such. He wasn't stupid. Oh no, there was a sharply intelligent electronic brain ticking over in his noggin. It's just that he was … different. His head didn't work quite like anyone else's. He knew it was the void in his chest that made him different, and he saw the world in a somewhat unique way. He was more about sense and love and flowers exploding with colour and butterflies and … well … _odd stuff_. His thoughts were never easy to corral into a logical train of reasoning, as the worlds around him and within him tended to intrude in the most delightful way.

But right now he had to concentrate and think everything through. He took a step back and looked at the situation as calmly as he possibly could, squashing the panic and terror like humans would squash a bug.

He took a few deep breaths, and then sent out frantic calls to The Spine and Rabbit through the wireless telegraph in his head, but got nothing but static. That was _bad_.

Okay. So … his brothers couldn't answer. But that didn't mean they were … The Jon shook his head. He didn't want to think _that_ particular idea through. Not yet.

Right. What to do next. If his brothers couldn't answer, then he had to go and find out why. And find Steve, Sam and Michael. And Connie. That meant getting over the deep abyss before him. Well, that would be easy. He would simply jump over it.

He felt easier in himself now that he had a Plan. The Plan would be to jump the abyss and find his family. He wasn't sure how he would find everyone on his own, but he would do everything he could to accomplish that.

The gaping ravine in front of him didn't look particularly wide, but the rim was unstable, he knew. He could so easily slip, or the ground would crumble under his feet, or there could be an aftershock, or – The Jon shook his head once more and chased the thoughts out of his mind.

He took a dozen steps back and closed his optics as he gathered his focus up and pointed it at the gap he had to jump.

"Gotta find 'em," he told himself firmly.

Opening his optics, he took a deep breath and ran like billy-oh. Before he knew it, he was sailing over a yawning chasm, black and deep and deadly, and he let out a wail of terror even as his feet touched down on the other side and he stumbled forward onto his knees, landing on chewed-up ground rife with sharp stones that shredded his pants and scored the metal of his bared knees.

He had done it.

But he didn't have time to be pleased with himself. He had to find everyone and make sure they were okay. He didn't allow himself to think they would be anything else.

Scrambling to his feet he ran to where he had seen The Spine last, only to be confronted with a body lying prone on the ground, surrounded by large chunks of plaster from the destroyed canopy.

" _Michael!_ "

The mechanic was sprawled on his side, covered with dust and dirt, but to his relief The Jon couldn't see any blood. He was even more relieved when he heard a soft groan and Michael shifted slightly. He let out a whimper of pure agony.

"Michael!" The Jon dropped to his knees beside his best friend, reaching out to touch his face. He was rewarded by a pair of blue eyes looking back at him, hazy with pain. "Michael!" The Jon said again as his friend lifted a shaky hand to touch his arm. "Don't move! Let me check you out, okay?"

Deep in The Jon's neural circuits a file opened, and The Jon accessed information he hadn't used since 1945. He had been programmed with all of the basic field medic skills so that he could quickly assess casualties and determine emergency care until help came. The information was out of date and quite a few of the strings of data were corrupted, but what was left was enough, The Jon hoped, to help Michael.

" _Ribs_ …" Michael's voice was hoarse from pain and inhaling quantities of dust, but it was clear.

"Okay. Gotcha." With great care, The Jon ran gentle but knowing hands over Michael's limbs, head and back, and then he carefully palpated Michael's side. Yep. He had at least three broken ribs. But Michael's breathing wasn't too bad, and he was reasonably sure at this point that his friend wasn't bleeding internally.

Michael was fully conscious by now, even though he had a thumping headache and his side was on fire. It hurt to breathe, but his arms and legs worked and despite the pain of inhaling and exhaling, he felt that his lungs were undamaged.

"Jon … " he rasped, "Go … go … look for others … 'm okay for now. I'll live."

The Jon hesitated for a mere moment, and then nodded.

"Spine … over there …" Michael waved weakly to his left.

After giving Michael a soft pat of reassurance on his shoulder, The Jon set off across a courtyard that was now like a war zone. The remains of the canopy were piled in heaps of wrecked plaster and concrete, and what remained of the motel rooms was nothing more than a few half-walls surrounded by rubble. The store was completely collapsed inside a small crater. Oddly enough, Connie's little adobe house appeared to be almost intact, with only the back room, which The Jon knew to be Connie's bedroom, having lost its exterior wall.

He found The Spine seconds later.

The tall automaton was lying pinned beneath a huge and particularly ragged lump of concrete. He was flat on his back, one arm trapped beneath the concrete along with his left shoulder and lower torso. His legs and other arm were clear and The Jon saw his brother's arm move slightly. The Spine's photo-receptors thankfully glowed a soft green. He was alive. The Jon made a soft noise of relief as he grasped the edge of the concrete and slowly lifted it off his brother. He might be slightly built, but he had a lot of strength in his slender metal frame.

The Spine's optics brightened as the weight was lifted off his chassis, and The Jon could hear the noise of his bellows as his big brother took a few deep breaths. The concrete slab caught on something. The Spine let out a grunt of discomfort.

"Ow," he said matter-of-factly.

"Sorry!" The Jon stopped lifting for a moment, allowing The Spine to recover a little.

"Okay Jon … keep going." The Spine's voice was weak but steady.

"I don't wanna hurt you – "

The Spine looked at his brother calmly.

"It's alright, Jon. I'll be perfectly okay. Just get this thing off me, alright?" And reaching over with his free arm, The Spine managed to shift slightly and grasped the edge of the slab, pushing upwards and helping The Jon to lift it free of whatever was preventing movement. The slab suddenly snapped loose and The Spine jerked, hissing as his neural circuits sent waves of 'pain' through his system.

As The Jon took over and threw the slab over and away from his brother, it became obvious what had prevented it from being moved. A large metal bolt protruded from the edge. It was drenched with black oil and liberal smears of dark ruby hydraulic fluid.

Panicked, The Jon dropped down beside The Spine, who had his right hand clutched tightly to his side at the waist. The silver automaton was trembling, even though The Jon could see he was trying to control it.

"Let me see," he said, reaching to lift away The Spine's hand.

"Don't … don't worry about me," The Spine gasped. "I'll be … I'll be fine. Go look for the others."

"No," said The Jon, surprising himself at the calmness in his voice. "I need to see. You can't do this on your own. Not this time. You're my brother, an' I love you. An' I can help. So let me see."

The Spine let out a painful sigh of exasperation, but he let his little brother lift his hand away. The Jon took a deep breath, shocked.

A gaping hole surrounded with shredded material from The Spine's shirt and vest bled oil and red fluid, oozing out onto The Spine's side and dripping onto the dusty ground.

"It's … it's not too bad, Jon. I can deal with this," he said, although it was obvious that the damage was extensive. "It's just a few broken oil lines and there's a leak in the hydraulics that control my left shoulder. Once I get those sealed I'll be okay." He tried a weak smile that was meant to reassure The Jon. It didn't work too well, he had to admit.

"Let me in there," came Michael's voice.

The Jon looked up, surprised.

Michael Reed stood beside them. _He looks terrible_ , thought The Spine. Dirty, bruised, swaying on his feet as he kept his arm tight to his side, Michael was barely able to stand, but he had his toolkit in his other hand.

"Help me up," muttered The Spine.

"Stay put," gasped Michael.

"Sez who?" growled The Spine.

"Don't be an idiot, Spine – Jon, help me sit down, will ya? I gotta take care of that bleeding."

The Jon helped a very shaky Michael Reed park himself on a handy block of cement and then opened the toolkit and placed it where Michael could easily reach it.

The Spine conceded defeat and slumped back, face turned to the blue sky. The dust had settled and he tried not to react too much to the devastation around him. As Michael began to probe the hole in his side, The Spine flinched. He turned agony-filled photo-receptors to his baby brother.

"Get going, Jon – we'll manage here. The others need you."

The Jon nodded.

"I know. Gotta go find 'em. Now you stay still, Spine, y'hear? You and Michael be careful. I'll be back as soon as I can."

The Spine grasped The Jon's arm with an oil-and-hydraulic-fluid-covered hand. The sight of it made The Jon's koi nauseous.

"Steve. He … he was on top of the canopy. I don't know … I think he was up there when the 'quake hit. I … Rabbit … Connie …" The Spine's voice trailed away, and The Jon wasn't sure if it was just the 'pain' of Michael trying to stop the bleeding of oil and fluid or worry about his family. Probably both, he figured.

Squeezing The Spine's hand reassuringly, The Jon stood and headed off towards what was left of the old canopy. He was terrified of what he might find.

* * *

Sam Luke was trying his very damndest to stay absolutely still.

He could only see out of one eye, the other being gummed shut by sticky blood from the gash on his head, and his spectacles were somewhere underneath piles of rubble. The situation was made worse because he wanted desperately to move. He wanted to scream out loud with the all-consuming pain throbbing through his right shoulder. But he dared not move an inch.

As he had staggered towards the doorway to his motel room, trying his best to stay upright during what was obviously a major earthquake, part of the roof had collapsed on him. His shoulder had taken the brunt of it and as he fell against the doorframe he had felt something give way in the joint. At that point he had blacked out.

He had come around lying in an untidy heap beside the open doorway, now partially blocked with rubble. It had taken a lot of pain and effort to ease himself upright and to lean back against the jamb, and he was just taking a breather while exploring the damage to his shoulder when he had heard an ominous crack. Looking up, he instantly froze. A large expanse of the remaining roof was teetering on the edge of the crumbling wall, and a crack was making its way across the centre. If it travelled along the entire length of the roof it would cave in and crush him to itty-bitty pieces.

For long moments he held his breath, and to his great relief the crack slowed, then stopped. He let out a ragged sigh and winced, biting his lip with the pain.

He was pretty sure his shoulder was dislocated. Out of the corner of his good eye he could see his arm was lying at an odd angle, and the joint was badly swollen. The rest of him was battered and bruised, but other than that he seemed to be more or less in one piece. He also wanted to wipe the blood out of his eye so that he could better assess his situation, but he dared not do so. His eyesight was bad enough without his spectacles, and being down by one eye made the situation even worse.

But as he lay super-still against the doorway, he heard something.

Voices. Dagnabbit, he could hear _voices_.

Taking a deep breath and marshalling his courage, he decided to take a chance.

"Guys? GUYS!" he yelled softly. The effort jolted his shoulder and he yelped. The crack travelled an inch or so and stopped, a tiny shower of dust clouding the air. "Jeesh," Sam said to himself. He tried again. "GUYS! I need some help here!"

The voices fell silent.

Sam closed his good eye and let his head fall back – gently – onto the wood of the door jamb, and waited. Surely they had heard him. They _had_ to have heard him.

He passed out.

* * *

The Jon was hunting a triceratops. He was methodically checking piles of crumbled plaster and around jumbled heaps of concrete that not long before had been sturdy and seemingly unbreakable pillars. He worked his way around the remains of the far side of the canopy, where he had last seen Steve standing gazing out at the desert … just before the whole world fell apart. For long minutes he scrabbled around, lifting impossibly heavy chunks of material, hoping against hope to find something _. Anything_.

The panic he had (mostly) held at bay began finally to take over and he talked feverishly to himself.

"Steve … Steve, where are ya?" he sobbed, "We need ya! The Spine an' Michael are hurt bad, an' … an' we can't find Sam or Rabbit or Connie an' they might be hurt or dead or somethin' and we-"

He heard a noise.

The Jon slid to a halt, stood stock still and listened.

The noise came again. It was a mere whisper of sound, but he knew what it was. A groan.

It came from his right, and scampering a couple of feet he found a jumble of concrete pieces covering … something. He began lifting hefty remnants of concrete out of the way and uncovered … yep – a horn. A long, curved, plaster horn. Beside the horn, covered in dust and rubbish, lay a hand.

"STEVE! I'm comin' Steve, I'm gonna get you outta there!"

Within minutes he had uncovered what was left of the plaster triceratops, now broken into many pieces, and followed the hand, up the arm to a shoulder, then lifting a particularly large piece of concrete he discovered what he was searching for. Tucked into a hollow, protected by the bulk of the triceratops beside him, was Steve Negrete.

A very beaten and bloody Steve Negrete, to be sure, covered in dust and filth and gore, but The Jon saw the shallow rise and fall of Steve's chest, and saw the sound engineer flinch as he lifted another lump of rubble off Steve's leg.

"Oh," said The Jon.

Steve's right leg was a disaster. It was broken in at least two places below the knee, and one of the fractures was open. The Jon winced at the bright gleam of bone shining through the torn material of Steve's jumpsuit.

Bleary brown eyes opened and stared at him.

"H-Hey, Jon …" Steve whispered. "About … about damn' time …"

Tossing the rubble to one side, The Jon dropped down beside his friend, his medical programme kicking into gear.

As the brassold automaton knelt beside the young engineer and began to give him a thorough looking-at, Steve began to talk. The Jon was sure Steve just wanted to try and stay awake, to reassure himself that he was, indeed, alive. Maybe not kickin', but definitely alive.

"F-Fell off the damn' roof, Jon. I _fell_. Oh … oh _jeez that hurts_ … "

"Oh, sorry!"

"S'okay, Jon. The dino saved me … I fixed him y'know … " Steve's hand clenched around a mangled reinforcing rod protruding from a concrete lump behind him and he shook with pain as The Jon tried very carefully to find the extent of the damage to his broken leg – " I – I did my best. Looks like … oh _god_ … he saved my life … huh …"

"Think so," said The Jon somewhat absently. He finished his examination by checking for rigidity in Steve's abdomen which might indicate internal bleeding. He gave a relieved sigh. "Broken leg. And I think your pelvis might be cracked. But the rest of you is just a bit beat-up."

"Oh," said Steve, still hanging on for dear life to the steel rod, "Is … is that all?" he couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, which, of course, was completely lost on The Jon.

The youngest of the three robots brightened. "Yep! Coulda been worse!" But then reality hit. "Oh. Oh, I don't know how we're gonna move ya! Sorry, Steve! I guess I shoulda done more thinking!"

"You just keep thinkin' Butch … _ohmygodthathurts_ … that …. that's what you're good at …" gritted Steve, the muscles of his jaw jumping.

"Steve?"

Michael Reed swam into his vision and he dabbled at the sweat running down his face, leaving runnels in the coating of dust and grime.

"H-hey Michael … you l-look like crap …"

Michael looked at The Jon and then paled when he saw the state of Steve's leg.

" _Ohmygerd …_ "

"Th-that bad, huh?" Steve grated.

"Um … it's not … well … _good_."

"Gee. Thanks buddy."

"Steve!" The Spine appeared beside Michael, looking more than a little shaky on his feet. He had removed his vest, and Steve could make out strapping of some sort through a hole in The Spine's trademark black shirt, bound around his waist, fastened tight with what appeared to be duct tape.

" Yeah, Spine – that's me." Steve said wearily. "An' you look worse than Michael."

"Spine!" The Jon stood and hugged his brother, making The Spine wince, and The Jon was instantly stammering apologies, "I didn't mean ta hurt ya!"

The Spine smiled grimly at his brother and hugged him back. If a robot could feel like death warmed up, then that was how The Spine felt right now. Michael, despite his own injuries, had managed to tape off the leaking oil lines and hydraulics and then packed the gaping hole with rags he had found beside Bussie. One thing The Spine didn't have to worry about was infection. His left shoulder didn't work properly, and his system was weakened by oil-loss and damage, but he was upright. So far.

Michael had then shown The Spine how to tape up his broken ribs, which allowed the mechanic at least a modicum of relief from pain and the ability to move more easily. He was still terrified of putting a broken rib through his lung, but he had no choice – he had to be able to help his friends. His _family_.

Now they had to figure out a way to get Steve out of the filth and debris and into somewhere sheltered and more comfortable. An open fracture was disturbingly prone to deep infection, and it didn't look as though help would be coming any time soon. Steve needed immediate care.

The Spine quickly ran through options even as he comforted his brother. The robot's own telegraph didn't seem to be working, and Connie had told them that cell phones and internet links didn't work due to interference from the hills around them. There was only one road in and out of the area, and the road had been destroyed by the 'quake. They were on their own.

His organizational skills swung into action, despite the growing 'pain' from his side. He was alarmed at the amount of oil loss he had taken, and his shoulder was almost useless. The rest of them were badly hurt apart from The Jon, and the little 'bot was scared out of his wits.

And … there was Rabbit, Connie and Sam.

The Spine closed his optics for a moment. He took a deep breath and caught his little brother by the shoulder. The Jon looked up at him, oily tears streaking his face plates.

"Jon, listen to me. Go look around the motel and see if you can find Sam. Michael and I will try and figure out a way of moving Steve, and then we have to go find Rabbit and Connie."

"But – " The Jon whimpered.

"No 'buts,' scout. You've done a great job, but now I need you to help me some more. I'm hurt, buddy. I'm still leaking oil inside. Michael's done what he can, but there's too much damage for him to fix completely, and he's in pretty bad shape himself. So now it's up to you, okay?"

"Spine! Oh no …" The Jon looked down at The Spine's damaged side, and he could see the fresh stain of oil through the strapping.

"Jon! I can't do this. I have to leave it to you, champ. I know you can do it. So go find Sam. You found Steve when we thought he was gone, and I know you can find Sam."

The Jon nodded hesitantly. Then he wordlessly gave his brother the very gentlest of hugs, and set off to find Sam. And find him he would, if it took until the end of forever.

The Spine watched him go, and then sank to his knees, holding his side. He felt dizzy, but he took a couple of deep breaths, filling his bellows with fresh air, and felt better. Michael was flat on his backside beside Steve. They all looked at one another. They were a _mess_.

"You … you got a plan?" Steve asked through the agonizing pain.

"Nope," said The Spine.

"Figures," breathed Michael, hugging his broken ribs.

The Spine eased around to sit beside Michael and leaned against the remains of the triceratops. His insides felt … _slick_. He looked at the crater that had been the store. The crater that held Rabbit and Connie somewhere in its depths.

He tried the telegraph again, but there was nothing. Not even static. The telegraph was dead.

The Spine just hoped upon hope that the same didn't apply to Rabbit and Connie.

He used his good hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Okay. We have to figure out what to do. Any ideas, guys?"

He was met with nothing but silence and pain.

TBC


	12. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Blackness.

_Can't … move …_

" -bit … son … wak –"

'Pain.' Terrible, agonizing, searing 'pain.'

_Hurts … can't … can't breathe …_

" … Son? Wake up, boy …  _please_  …"

_Must … see …_

Trying to speak … voice box … choking …  _ohgodohgodohgod_  …

"Rabbit? Please … c'mon, ya gotta wake up, son. I need you … that's it … open them beautiful eyes for ol' Connie, y'hear?"

"Con …"  _cough_  … "Miz … Connie …"

A hand … cool and gentle … touching face plates … head turning to see her … fire in his chest and back …

"Oh lord … stay still, honey, please … be still …"

His cough came again, a retching, oily cough, and he felt the trickle of fluid from the corner of his mouth.

Rabbit's optics opened slowly, shining blue and green in a world of black, suffocating filth. Black and white images slowly resolved into colour – or whatever colour he could make out in this awful nightmare of a place.

"'m I dreamin' …?" The cough came again, bringing another thin trickle of oily fluid over his voice box.

Connie's face swam into his vision. He tried to lift his head to see her more clearly, but the movement sent spikes of agonizing electrical pulses through his chest and he whimpered.

"No, sweetie – you ain't dreamin.' And fer goodness sake, keep  _still_."

"Th-Th-Think I'm bust up …" His voice sounded tinny and congested.

"I know, son … I know …"

Rabbit squinted, trying to focus, and his optics sluggishly adjusted to the dark. Connie was sitting in front of him amidst … devastation. They both seemed to be trapped in a small cave made of a huge, blasted jumble of wreckage and decimated walls. There were faint glimmers of light trickling from cracks amongst the rubble above them, and he could finally see Connie, albeit somewhat hazily. He seemed to be lying at a 45-degree angle on his side, but he couldn't feel anything solid beneath him to support his shoulder and side. His legs and good hip were resting on rubble, but he couldn't figure out why his upper body and head seemed to be suspended in air. His optics didn't seem to be able to focus very well. Connie was sitting, smeared with filth and dust, just beside him, among the debris and detritus strewn about the place. She had a few tiny cuts and bruises around her face, but otherwise she looked unhurt. She grinned with relief.

"Well lookit who's awake!" She leaned forward with a strip of cloth in her hand, and Rabbit realised it was the tail of her old batik shirt. She carefully wiped away the trickle of oil and slick hydraulic fluid from his lips, and tried hard not to let him see how much of the black and red mess had soaked the material. "There now. You look more like my Rabbit. Still as handsome as ever!"

"Can't … c-c-c-can't move … back … chest h-h-h-hurts …"

"So don't try, boy!" Connie's voice was shaky with fear, but she tried her best to be strong, knowing Rabbit would listen to her version of tough love. "You're kinda …" her voice tailed away a little, but then she rallied, " … I want you to just hang on in there, and when I tell you to be still, son, you  _damn well better be still_ , y'hear me?"

Rabbit's optics widened, and he nodded weakly.

"Yes'm."

Connie nodded to herself, satisfied. She shifted around a little, wincing, and Rabbit, despite his own 'pain', was alarmed.

"A-Are you … "  _cough_  ".. hurt, Miz Connie?"

Connie almost wept. "Oh, Rabbit, hon, you're not gonna believe this. After my store collapsin' on us an' then us fallin' twenty feet into my ol' cellar in the middle of the biggest damn' earthquake this region's probably ever seen, all I got was a twisted ankle." She took his face in both of her hands and Rabbit could feel her shaking. "That's all. A twisted goldarned ankle! An' you … my precious, precious boy … if you hadn't've put yourself between me an' all of …  _this_  …" she gesticulated at the devastation around her, "I wouldn't have made it. You saved my life, son."

Rabbit, riven with 'pain' and in deep distress, managed the widest, sweetest, tiredest smile Connie had ever seen. Her heart broke into pieces.

"Oh dear lord, how the hell am I gonna do this?" she said, her voice breaking along with her heart. "Okay … " she took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Okay. Now I gotta take care of  _you_."

Connie began to rummage around the space, which was, Rabbit could vaguely see, littered with items from the store. He heard her exclaim quietly, and she began to pull a shrink-wrapped package from the rubble. A small pack of dish-towels in bright blue and red gingham. She shuffled on her behind a couple of feet to his right, just beyond his vision (Miz Connie had ordered him to be still, so staying still was his A-1 priority), and within a minute or two had returned with a 12-pack of bottled mineral water.

Tearing open the pack of dish towels, she folded one neatly into a pad.

"Son, I have no idea how you robots work, but I'm guessin' that oil lines an' hydraulics an' electrical circuits work more or less the same as blood vessels, muscles an' nerves, right?"

Rabbit nodded, but stopped with a gasp as the action set up a barrage of agony through his chest and back. But he kept his eyes on Connie. Looking at Connie and not at the impossible situation they were both in made everything more bearable. If he had Connie by him, then no matter what, things would be alright, he was certain.

"Easy now … " Connie soothed, "it'll pass, sweetie … just stay with me, okay?"

"O-O-O-Okay …"

"So … " she continued, hesitantly, "I'm thinkin' this through. I treat your hurts the same way I'd treat a human, only I got oil an' this … this red stuff …"

"H-H-Hydraulic fluid …" Rabbit gasped.

"Ah." Connie thought it through some more. "An' … an' you got bellows fer lungs? An' that … that blue thing in your chest is somethin' like your heart?"

Rabbit was aware that he was having difficulty breathing. The left side of his chest was not working properly inside, he knew. He tried to take a deep breath and broke into a crippling fit of coughing, and he was horrified when more oil and hydraulic fluid dripped from his metal lips.

Connie eased herself beside him and gently cradled his head, wiping away the mess of black and dull red liquid. Rabbit felt her slip her slender arm around his shoulders and moved his head slightly to lie against the hollow of her neck. An automaton's head wasn't the lightest thing in the world, but Connie didn't care. She carefully passed the pad of dishcloth over Rabbit's body to her other hand, and Rabbit felt her press the cloth against the back of his shoulder, working it under his vest to lie on the cool copper plates. He couldn't quite understand how she had done so – he could only guess that his vest and shirt were torn, and that the 'pain' he was feeling came from some sort of wound there. But he couldn't figure out why his chest hurt.

He felt her trying to one-handedly tuck the cloth around … whatever it was. As she did so, something suddenly shifted deep inside his chest and he cried out in agony. In his 'pain', he realised that his angle had changed slightly, his sensitive new gyros trying to adjust and his arm jerked, scrabbling to find purchase on the rubble beneath them.

"Oh! Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry!" Connie was horrified.

She felt a faint trickle of steam against her neck. Nowhere near normal, she decided.

Rabbit was trembling. Connie couldn't quite decide, but perhaps Rabbit was going into the robotic version of shock. Could automatons suffer from shock? She had no idea. She rested her head against Rabbit's, his red bandanna covered in mire and filth. His beautiful and treasured be-goggled hat was nowhere to be seen. She heard his inner clockwork workings, now sluggish and painful to hear. Everything seemed to be out of sync, and knowing what had happened to him, she wasn't really surprised.

Connie sighed.

She would have to explain to him about his situation, and then try and figure out what to do about it.

 _Now now Connie … ya treated boys worse off than Rabbit during the Vietnam war, an' they survived. He's stable, he's not bleedin' too badly, an' as for his insides …_ Connie began to run through scenarios in her mind.  _Michael tol' me he has a plate that can be opened in his chest … maybe I could take a look an' see …_

But first of all she had to get this badly hurt clockwork man into a situation where he could rest and get some relief from the pain – and he was in  _terrible_  pain, Connie knew that now.

"Rabbit? Son?" she said softly.

His head moved against her.

"Y-Y-Yeah?" His voice was dry. He needed water badly.

"Rabbit, I gotta show ya what's happened, an' then you an' me are gonna figure out how to take care of ya an' make ya feel better until someone comes to get our sorry behinds outta this place."

"Wo – works for me …" Rabbit's breath hitched as those treacherous neural connections sent new waves of 'pain' through his body.

Connie took a deep breath. Reaching out for another dish towel, she padded it and leaned sideways slightly to look down at his chest.

"Can you hang on there, boy, an' help me out?" When she felt his tiny nod, she carried on. "I gotta try and stop the oil leakin' from your chest. But I can't take a look inside ya an' check out your bellows until we get you more comfortable. I gotta leave ya for a minute or two to find somethin' to put under you so's we can take the pressure off – "

"O-O-Off what, Miz Connie?" Rabbit asked.

Wordlessly, Connie caught hold of his right hand and lifted it to his chest.

"Now don't freak out, y'hear? It's gonna be okay, an' Michael tol' me that all of you boys had been hurt before. You survived that, an' you'll survive this. So here goes …"

She gently wrapped his fingers around the one-inch-thick steel reinforcing rod that had punched downwards through his back and out of his chest, and then driven itself deep, deep into the rubble floor. Rabbit had been very effectively speared through-and-through, the rod still firmly embedded in a huge concrete block that had fallen above and beside them as the store collapsed into the deep old cellar.

Rabbit panicked.

He struggled weakly as Connie wrapped her arms around him, trying to keep him still. Her efforts were futile. Rabbit's body slid several inches down the ridged metal rod even as he braced himself against the movement, and his breathing spasmed, his voice box glitching so badly that the ensuing scream of agony was utterly soundless.

Connie held him tight. She held him close to her own hammering heart, and even as she soothed him with calming words and tried to stop his heavy chassis from sliding any further, she wept. He finally stilled, his inner cogs and wheels clicking unevenly in his chest, the deadly metal intruder keeping him cruelly suspended nearly a foot above the uneven floor.

Rabbit managed to turn his head against her shoulder, his chassis shuddering with 'pain', and he sobbed brokenly.

Holding him close, she freed one of her hands and reached behind her. Retrieving one of the bottles of water, she managed to unscrew the plastic cap with her teeth.

"Here, son … this will help. I think your boiler's almost dry, and you need to keep your strength up. So take it slow an' easy, y'hear?"

"Uh …" Rabbit said.

Connie held the bottle to his lips, and even though his voice box and throat were thinly coated in oil and hydraulic fluid, the trickle of the deliciously cold water into his boiler was utter heaven.

" … better … th-th-th-thanks …"

Connie Dawson dropped a kiss on top of his red-bandanna'd head. "Dat's m'boy!" she smiled through her tears. "Okay sweetheart. Now … we have to do some thinkin.' D'you feel up to it? Need yer help here. Put yer thinkin' cap on."

Rabbit gave a teensy, painfully breathless chuckle even as the fear rattled through his electrical synapses.

"Ain't… ain't got m' hat, Miz Connie … I g-g-g-got my thinkin' bandanna on, though … w-w-will that help?"

Holding him to her heart, Connie nodded.

"That'll do, son … that'll do."

Rabbit sighed and relaxed as well as he could against Connie, hearing her comforting heartbeat. Then he began to think.

* * *

"It's a good job you're short, Steve," said The Spine. "We'd have to find a bigger door otherwise."

Steve Negrete, carefully stretched out on a wooden door scavenged from what was left of the nearest motel room, snorted.

"I am  _not_  short," he muttered. "I'm awesomely compact."

"You're  _short_ ," stated Michael firmly.

The Spine and Michael, with two good arms, four shaky legs and a whole lot of bust bits between them, were slowly dragging the door and its incumbent along the ground like a travois. The Spine had already rigged a shady spot beside the fallen Bussie using a sheet from Connie's bedroom and a few lengths of timber. Beneath it was Connie's nearly-new king-size mattress from her bed, settled on the dusty ground with a few pillows and cushions.

Poor Connie's house had been systematically raided for clean towels, a good first aid kit and some food from the ruined kitchen. While the house appeared to be sound on the outside, inside the building was a different matter. Most of the internal walls were gone, including at least one load-bearing wall. As The Spine had gingerly hunted through the building, he had been acutely aware of the increasing creaks and groans of displaced joists and rafters. The house was more than a little unsafe, and he had been very glad to get out of there.

The towels, water and medical supplies had been put to good use as Michael cleaned up and carefully covered the open fracture in Steve's leg. The other break was clean and already aligned, so all they had to do was carefully splint the leg and try to keep the exposed fracture as free of dirt as they could.

Afterwards, Steve had not felt at his best, he had to admit. More pain had come along when he had been lifted as gently as possible by his two badly hurt friends and laid on the door.

Being dragged over what resembled a moonscape wasn't … comfortable. He was highly pleased when they reached the makeshift shelter at Bussie's side although the move from the door onto the mattress was not pleasant.

Michael propped Steve's broken limb with cushions which did, Steve decided, help reduce the pain.

The Spine and Michael collapsed on the ground beside the wounded sound engineer, managing to get at least some shade from the fierce sun.

The Spine felt woozy. The effort of finding various supplies that they needed and then dragging a hefty door with the 'awesomely compact' Mr. Negrete had caused something to loosen within him and he had felt a fresh flow of oil in his innards. The packing in the wound in his side was sodden with oil.

But that didn't matter right now. Michael was gasping for breath and hunched with pain as he sat beside Steve, having an argument with the sound engineer over who needed a mouthful of water the most.

"Steve, just  _drink the damn' water_!" Michael rasped. "You'll need it if you go into shock."

"Not … not goin' into shock," replied Steve, shivering despite the midday heat.

The Spine wordlessly leaned over and draped The Jon's Power Rangers comforter over Steve's supine form. Warmth and plenty of fluids – that was the ticket.

He was taking stock of their assets, things that would not only help them survive but also sustain them until they found Rabbit, Sam and Connie.

Bussie was on her side now, her hydraulic door jammed shut, the earthquake having toppled her completely. The Spine knew that he would have to wait until The Jon returned to enable them to gain entry to the bus via a smashed window. His injuries were weakening him far too fast, and there wasn't a cat in hell's chance of The Spine being able to clamber about a fallen bus. He had managed, with his long reach, to snag the comforter, but that was about it.

Other than a few towels and a first aid kit, plus a couple of cans of soup and odds and ends of food from Connie's house, they had nothing. Bussie would yield a heap of sandwiches, provided they could keep them cool, a couple of cases of bottled water, more comforters, their own medical kit, several guitars, a banjo, a mandolin and a full drum kit with accompanying sound system and a plethora of cables and wiring.

And they also had to find their missing family.

They were, The Spine decided, in deep, deep trouble.

"GUYS!"

The Spine awoke from his reverie.

The Jon slid down beside them, jumpy with excitement.

"GUYS! I FOUND SAM! YA GOTTA COME HELP!"

Michael and Steve, despite their arguing and pain, broke into relieved grins. The Spine closed his optics for a moment.

 _Thank god. Now for Rabbit and Connie_ , he thought.

The Jon grabbed The Spine's hand, trying to drag him to his feet.

"C'mon Spine, We need ya!"

The Spine let out an audible grunt of agony. The Jon was instantly ashamed of himself. He'd forgotten his brother was badly injured.

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, Spine! I forgot! I'm so stupid!" Oily tears began.

The Spine shushed him.

"Now, now, Jon … calm down. I'll be fine, and no, you are  _not_  stupid. Just excited is all. So help me up, squirt, and we'll go get Sam. Is he hurt?"

"Just his shoulder, I think. But he doesn't seem able to move, an' I'm worried that he's hurt his back. He told me to go get help. So I did." The Jon smiled his sweet smile that would have had Connie giving him a huge hug if she'd been there.  _Connie_. The Spine had to stop his own tears.

The Jon stood up and grasping The Spine's proffered hand, carefully helped his big brother to his feet. The Spine swayed, and The Jon instinctively draped his brother's arm across his shoulders and supported him until he steadied.

Between them they managed a rather slow and meandering walk to the furthest away motel room where they found Sam, huddled beside the smashed doorway. The roof had collapsed, and Sam sat flat on his rump, leaning awkwardly against the wrecked doorjamb.

At first The Spine thought the drummer was unconscious. He certainly looked very much worst for wear. His face was covered in drying blood from a nasty gash on his head, and his right shoulder … well it was obvious that it was badly dislocated.

Sam opened one eye and gazed steadily at the tall automaton.

"I shouted an shouted an' I thought you heard me." He whispered. " Where the  _hell_  have you been?"

The Spine smirked, delighted beyond all measure that Sam was alive.

"It's nice to see you too, Sam."

Moving to begin shifting the small pile of rubble blocking the doorway, The Spine was surprised to hear Sam hiss in annoyance.

"Stay right where you are! Do ya want the whole thing to collapse an' kill me stone dead?"

"What?"

Sam glared at him, and then slowly tilted his head back and gazed at the collapsed roof above him.

The Spine suddenly understood. The roof section had a massive crack running three-quarters of the way across its mass. Any sudden movement would mean that tons of roofing material would fall right on top of the drummer. It was one helluva problem, there was no denying it.

"Don't move," he began - rather pointlessly, Sam thought.

But before he could quietly rant at The Spine, he felt the earth move beneath him.

_Oh no. Oh no, not now, please not now … this is baaaad …_

One hour and seven minutes after the earthquake, the first of the massive aftershocks began.

TBC


	13. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"T-T-Tighter. "

"But Rabbit, son – "

"Gotta … g-g-gotta be tighter, Miz Connie."

Connie Dawson looked deep into Rabbit's mismatched optics and hesitated.

"It's gonna hurt."

Rabbit rearranged his face plates so that he looked as pitiful as possible – which, Connie had to admit, wouldn't be difficult seeing how hurt he was.

"I'll need … need another hug … once we-we-we're done. A-An'-" Rabbit stopped for a moment, as his breath hitched and he tried – unsuccessfully – to control a bout of coughing. Bolts of agony swept through him. He tried again, rasping out the words. "An' maybe ice cream once we get free. _Lots_ of ice cream. An' stories," he added wistfully. "Stories a-a-about Rabbit."

Connie was sitting in front of Rabbit, holding the end of the strongest and stoutest of his six belts. The main length of the belt was strapped around Rabbit's back and around the section of the steel rod protruding from his chest.

This was the result of their shared thinking session. Connie, her nursing instinct in full force, did not want Rabbit to move any more than he had to. The rod was far too thick for them to break, and to cut through it would require a heavy-duty metal-cutter or even a hacksaw, neither of which she had kept in her store. The only hacksaw available would have been in her old workshop behind the house, and she had no idea if the building had survived.

She was also afraid that too much movement would cause Rabbit more damage inside. She was already sure that the rod had pieced his left bellows. So … movement was a big no-no in Connie's book. And the pain … he was in _so much pain_. So they would use the strength of the leather belt and rigidity of the steel to help support Rabbit's chassis and relieve the pressure. Another of his belts already ran from his upper waist to his back and was tightly secured around the rod.

He had almost passed out as Connie tightened the first belt. She had held him afterwards, his whole body shaking and his hand tightly clutched in hers, her soft voice whispering soothing sounds and loving words.

And now they were about to do it all again.

"Are ya ready, boy?"

Rabbit nodded weakly.

"Y-Yep. OH!"

Connie halted her move to tighten the belt, alarmed.

"Are you okay, sweetie?"

"Miz Connie? " Rabbit was thinking. "I'd really, _really_ love it i-i-i-if you'd, uh, you'd call me 'sweetheart' maybe three … no, four … yeah … _four_ times a day-" He broke off for a second to catch his breath, "It would make me f-f-feel a lot better. Honest." He blinked pleading optics at her.

Connie Dawson thought that was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. Keeping as straight a face as she could manage, she nodded.

"Oh, sweetie – I mean _sweetheart_ – I promise. Four times a day. Cross my silly ol' heart. And I promise lots of hugs, and ice cream – but you'll have to share the ice cream with your brothers an' Sam, Michael an' Steve. It wouldn't be fair otherwise." And as she said it, she hoped against hope that the rest of her boys were alive and well.

Rabbit thought about it, and then made a decision.

"O-O-Okay. But can I get mine first? And then Jon. And then e-everyone else. 'Cause … 'cause … " His photo-receptors glowed gently in the dim light, "They're all g-g-gonna be fine. Just fine. Ain't they, Miz Connie?"

"I sure hope so, honey. I sure do hope so." Connie tried to keep her voice calm and positive.

Rabbit nodded wearily to himself, and then they were ready.

"Tight." Rabbit reaffirmed.

Connie took a deep breath and pulled the belt as tight as she could, then fastened the buckle as quickly as possible to save Rabbit from suffering any more than he had to.

Rabbit jerked in response, his chassis rigid as electrical waves from damaged neural circuits washed though him. His photo-receptors flickered in response, but it was the only indication he gave of the crippling agony.

"Hug - " he ground out between gritted teeth. "P-Please … _ohgod_ …"

Ignoring the throbbing pain from her twisted ankle, Connie slid in behind him and cradled him in her arms, holding him until the pain subsided and his internal workings settled down. She held him tight and she held him close, so that he could hear her heartbeat, which calmed him. She hummed words of comfort to him, and knew in her heart that by rights Rabbit should be dead. The fact that he _wasn't_ was an undeniable credit to Peter Walter I for building Rabbit's sturdy chassis, even though the automaton refused as many upgrades as he could. But she also knew that Rabbit's mile-wide stubborn streak had a lot to do with it. He was, she decided grimly, as tough as old boots.

"Your Pappy did one helluva job buildin' you, son. I wish I coulda met him." She said softly.

She felt Rabbit relax a little, and she sensed his smile.

"Y-Yeah. Pappy was, uh, was awesome that way," Rabbit answered with pride. "Jus' like you, Miz Connie. P-P-Pappy would've liked you too."

Rabbit was feeling a little better. The belts were supporting his chassis now, not the steel rod alone as it pierced his body. The relief was tremendous, even though he was still in great pain.

"Now I gotta find somethin' for you to lie on, boy. It'll make life more comfortable an' I can take a look inside … if you'll let me, that is."

"Oh … okay," Rabbit breathed quietly.

Connie raised her eyebrows. Michael had told her about Rabbit's dislike of upgrades and how … _difficult_ … he could be. He would run the usual avoidance protocols he had worked out over the years – trying to joke and tease his way out of it, and when that didn't work, his 'petulance' mode would kick in. This also failed (even though Rabbit still insisted on trying it), and then he would be driven into a combination of whining and sulking. It drove Michael and the rest of the band crazy – apart from The Jon, who would join in to keep his brother company. That would be the final straw. Michael and The Spine would become insistent. Rabbit would make a run for it and hide. Michael and The Spine would _always_ find him. And then he would give in, unhappy, sometimes a bit weepy, and always protesting noisily. After the upgrade, he would go back to sulking. For _weeks_.

Connie shrugged. Well, at least he was agreeing without a fight.

"Alright, Rabbit – I'm gonna go look for stuff. I'll be back soon – "

The ground began to shake.

"What the hell – " muttered Connie.

"H-Hang on, Miz Connie! " Rabbit gasped, his voice box glitching.

A large block of concrete crashed down beside them.

* * *

The initial tremor woke Steve Negrete from an uneasy, feverish doze.

"Michael – "

The one-man-band was slumped against Bussie, sound asleep.

"Michael!"

"Wha – " Michael awoke with a start and then clutched his broken ribs. "Ow! Jeez – " His eyes widened as he felt the ground begin shake. "Oh god – not again – "

He didn't have time to think. Michael reached forward and grabbed Steve by the shoulder of his jumpsuit and pulled hard, ignoring the screaming pain in his side. He yanked Steve up and back to lie against his chest, and then he shrank back against Bussie's bulk. Steve let out a yelp of pure agony and passed out, lying bonelessly against Michael's chest. Michael hunched over his friend protectively and hoped to God that Bussie didn't move as the tremor heaved the ground beneath them.

It was at this point that Bussie decided to slide gently away from them, dragging the makeshift shelter with her and leaving Michael and an unconscious Steve completely exposed to the catastrophe happening around them.

* * *

The first ripple of the heavy aftershock knocked The Spine flat on his back in the dirt. His balance was already poor due to the steady drip of oil from the hole in his side, leaving him weaker by the hour and non-too-steady on his feet. He tried to right himself, turning over onto his hands and knees, his head hanging. He could see out of the corner of his eye small spots of oil and hydraulic fluid hitting the shuddering ground. The drip became more frequent, even in the few seconds he had before the next jolting tremor set up an ominous rumble in the partially demolished motel complex.

Sam. He had to get Sam out of there –

A pair of red converse sneakers shot past him. The Jon. What the –

" _Jon! Nooooo!_ "

The Spine was too late. Even as the world juddered and blurred around him, he lost his balance and fell onto his side just in time to see The Jon scoot over the rubble and into the partially-flattened motel room where Sam Luke lay helpless. He watched in horror as the crack in the collapsed roof section continued its journey, faster than the blink of an optic. The Jon disappeared into a huge cloud of dust and debris as the roof finally disintegrated with a deafening roar.

* * *

Rabbit could feel Connie clinging to his side, her head tucked into his shoulder, yelling in sheer terror as their world began to fall apart around them. The air was thick with dust and debris and the noise was overwhelming – a shuddering, crashing roar, and Rabbit, with extreme effort, managed to twist slightly and free his good right arm. Yelping wordlessly against the 'pain,' he caught hold of Connie and pulled her into his wounded chest and the protection of his metal chassis. Her arms went around him and she hung on, face buried in his vest, and he could feel her incoherent cries vibrating against his chest plates.

"S'alright, Miz Connie!" he yelled above the din, "I gotcha … nothin's g-gonna hurt ya … Rabbit'll protect ya! Just hang on in there, an' don't worry – " His head dropped down over hers and he flinched as a heavy rain of concrete chunks clattered off his shoulders and back. At that moment he felt a jerk and his body was wrenched upwards, the steel rod shifting free of the ground, lifting him vertically away from Connie and shoving him into the air. He screamed with the 'pain,' and Connie scrabbled to hang onto him, only for Rabbit to be slammed back down as the aftershock shifted the huge slab that imprisoned him. Connie clung to him in the darkness and choking atmosphere, utterly terrified, and Rabbit held onto her, blinded by filth and thick dust and noise and agony and -

-and suddenly everything just … _stopped_.

* * *

The ensuing silence was eerie.

Michael Reed still sat in the middle of the courtyard, seated on an almost-new king-size mattress with his arms wrapped around a blessedly out-of-it Steve Negrete, and surrounded by multi-coloured cushions and piles of debris that had once been a gas station canopy.

Michael slowly un-hunched his shoulders and warily opened one scrunched-up eye. Well, it appeared they were both still intact. In fact, he discovered when he opened his other eye, they were completely untouched.

Bussie had slewed sideways and intercepted part of the smashed canopy that had been heading in their direction, protecting them from what would have been a fatal encounter with several tons of concrete.

Michael shook his head in wonder.

"Good girl," he muttered to the now-somewhat-battered bus. "We owe you one."

"What … what the _hell_ just happened?" said a drowsy voice.

Michael looked down at Steve and found a pair of pained and somewhat confused brown eyes looking back at him.

"Aftershock," he replied.

"Ah," said Steve. "And why, exactly, am I lying in your arms, buddy?"

Michael arched an eyebrow.

" _Aftershock_ ," he repeated. "Had to haul you out of the way."

"Uh-huh." Steve thought about it for a moment. "Thanks an' all that, but you don't ever mention this to anyone. _Ever_."

Michael burst out laughing – until his ribs reminded him that they were broken, and he gasped, hugging himself to ease the pain.

"I feel … awful," muttered Steve.

"Man, I gotta tell ya Steve," Michael wheezed, "You don't _look_ so hot either."

The sound engineer was very pale under his tan, and his skin carried a faint sheen of sweat. He shivered. Concerned, Michael put the back of his hand on Steve's brow and frowned.

"You're running a temperature. Let me check your leg." Easing Steve back down onto the mattress, Michael shuffled stiffly around and checked the splint and dressing over the open fracture. He winced in sympathy as he saw fresh blood soaking the thick padding. "You're bleeding. I have to change those dressings, but I gotta tell you that'll be the last of them."

Steve nodded wearily. "Gotcha."

"So once I do this, you don't move, okay?"

"Gotcha again." Steve watched as Michael struggled to stand and then wander a few feet to pick up the first aid kit, still lying where it had been dumped only hours before. Michael returned with the kit and carefully sat down on the mattress, opening the now alarmingly depleted kit. Steve flinched and squirmed in discomfort as Michael began to remove the soiled dressings, and then chewed the inside of his lip until it bled. He hadn't plucked up the courage to look at his injury, and admitted to himself that vomiting in fear wasn't something he wanted to do in front of his friend.

Steve's usual way of dealing with problems was to go and fix something electrical. There was nothing quite like fiddle-faddling about with a sound mixer to help him take his mind off things. But right now, flat on his back with a badly-broken leg in the middle of a desert devastated by one helluva major earthquake, the capacity for repairing even the tiniest electrical glitch just wasn't happening for him.

So, he decided, the next patent Negrete scheme for taking one's mind off things was to talk. A _lot_.

As Michael worked away at cleaning up the bloody mess that was Steve's leg, he found himself listening to rambling discourses on, among other things, the infinite variety of medieval sword design, Steve's opinions on chihuahuas and their unfortunate lack of height, and a particularly inane account of Steve's grandma's childhood encounter with a deranged and irate llama.

Steve had just got to the bit where he was giving a very descriptive account of how to spit like a llama when Michael interrupted his dramatic flow.

"Okay, Steve – all done."

"Huh," said Steve. He was shivering.

Michael touched Steve's bare shoulder. He was burning up.

"You, my friend, have a fever."

"Nahhhhh …" Steve said confidently." I'm fine. Juuuusst fine …"

His dark eyes were bright with pain.

"Michael?"

"Yeah, dude?"

"Am I gonna lose my leg?"

Michael blinked. Now where the hell had _that_ come from?

Sighing, he patted Steve's arm.

"Not if I can help it, buddy."

Steve thought about it.

"Promise?"

Michael nodded.

"Promise."

Steve closed his eyes and instantly drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Leaning over and lifting the comforter, Michael very carefully draped it over his friend and tucked it in. They were sitting in sweltering heat with no shade, down to their last two bottles of water and the first aid kit was virtually depleted of anything that could be remotely useful. And, Michael fretted, there was no sign of The Spine and The Jon. He hoped that they had found shelter and that Sam was now safe. To think of Rabbit and Connie was just too difficult.

At that moment, Michael Reed was sure they were all going to die.

* * *

The Spine was curled on his side in the foetal position when the shaking earth quieted and then stopped shuddering.

His arm was tight to his injured side and his other arm was curled in against his chest, his knees were drawn up and his optics were firmly shut.

His little brother was dead. Sam was dead. Rabbit and Connie were probably dead. Michael and Steve were both badly hurt, and Steve might not survive without help arriving soon. And his own injuries were grim – his oil loss was severe, and he was still bleeding.

 _So much for being in control of the situation_ , he thought. He had failed. _Failed_. And it had cost lives. He tightened his grip on his wounded side and felt a trickle of oil down his silvered cheeks.

"Spine?"

"Not now, Jon …" His photo-receptors blinked open then widened. " _Jon?"_

"Yeah, Spine?"

The Spine looked up.

A very grimy, dusty and grinning The Jon looked back at him.

"Jon!"

The Spine levered himself up, still hanging onto his side, and The Jon crouched down to help him, gently easing him up onto his feet. Studying his little brother, The Spine checked him for injuries, and found none.

"Wha … how … where's Sam?" The Spine looked around wildly only to see a very-much-alive Sam Luke sitting on a large fragment of concrete, squinting back at him through his good eye, cradling his bad arm and grinning like a lunatic. "Sam!"

Sam gave him a little finger wave with his working hand. "Hey, Spine."

The Spine's gaze snapped back to The Jon, who was still wearing his wide grin. He was obviously very proud of himself.

The silver automaton grasped The Jon's shoulder and glared at him. The Jon's grin faltered.

"Jon …" grated The Spine, his brows drawn down and giving the little 'bot one of his very best Serious Looks.

"Yeah?" The Jon replied, looking worried.

"Jon," The Spine repeated, "Don't you ever … _ever_ … scare me like that again! I thought … I thought I'd lost you."

And before The Jon could answer, his big brother pulled him into an all-enveloping hug. It was the Hug To End All Hugs, The Spine holding his little brother close. The Jon returned the Hug, patting The Spine gently on the back and feeling tension and fear and relief all mixed into one rolling through the tall robot's chassis.

"Okay, Spine. I promise," The Jon whispered into The Spine's shirt. "But," he added, "I was still pretty awesome, huh."

"He was like frikkin' Superman," Sam said. "Came sailing over that pile of rubble, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and hauled me out of there before I even knew what was happening."

The Jon pulled back and looked up at The Spine.

"Spine, I want a cape," he said. "With SuperTheJon on it."

The Spine thought about it and nodded even as he wiped away oily tears. "Well, wait until Christmas, sport. I suspect Saint Pappers Claus might bring you one."

The Jon bounced with delight.

"S'cuse me, guys," interrupted Sam, "I don't want to break up the Brotherly Hugfest, but I got a dislocated shoulder here. An' it damn' well _hurts_."

"Oh!" The Jon, still in bounce mode, bounced over to Sam, who was looking wan and a little shaky. "Let me take care of that for ya, Sam!"

"Thanks – AAARRGGHH!" Sam bawled, as The Jon grasped his wrist, extended the arm and gently but firmly rotated it. Sam felt the 'click' of the ball sliding back into the socket, and even as he screamed with pain he knew his arm was suddenly movable. Nevertheless, he still slumped forward in a near-faint. The Jon caught and held him until the ringing in his ears eased and the blackness receded.

"Now," The Jon instructed, "Your shoulder's still swollen so I'll strap it when we get back to Michael and Steve. I'm actually quite surprised it went back into the socket so easily because of the swelling. Meh." He shrugged. "It worked okay, huh."

Sam lifted his head and glared at The Jon with his good eye.

"C'mon guys. We have to go." The Spine straightened as well as he could, his arm pressed against his bleeding side. He felt dizzy, but he wasn't going to allow himself to pass out – he had responsibilities, and he was going to carry them out if it killed him. "Can you walk, Sam?"

The drummer gingerly stood and tested his balance. He was a little unsteady, but he'd make it. Once more cradling his damaged arm, he nodded.

"I'll be fine," he affirmed. "Lead on, MacDuff."

"Who's MacDuff?" asked The Jon, puzzled.

The Spine would normally have waxed lyrical about Shakespeare and quotes and how 'Lead on, MacDuff' was just like 'Play it again, Sam' in _Casablanca_ and how everyone got the lines wrong, but right now … _right this minute_ … he just didn't have the strength.

"Tell ya later," he muttered.

"Oh. Okay." The Jon once more looped The Spine's arm over his shoulders, and was a little concerned that his older brother needed the support much more now. "We gotta get back to Steve an' Michael and get Sam all patched up."

The Spine nodded. The Jon's unshakable faith that their friends would be in one piece when they got there was oddly comforting.

"Let's go, MacDuff!" The Jon announced.

The three of them very slowly and very painfully set off back to the courtyard and the hope that they would find Michael and Steve alive.

* * *

"Son … why dontcha switch yourself off or whatever it is you do? You'd get some rest and you wouldn't be in so much pain."

Connie and Rabbit were huddled together in a much smaller space than they had before the aftershock. Many of the larger blocks of rubble had crashed down around them, and while the amount of light filtering down from the surface was increased, it meant that Connie could no longer forage around the area for supplies to keep them going. Their inventory existed of four dishtowels and a diminishing pack of small bottles of mineral water.

Rabbit shook his head.

"Don't … don't wanna," he whispered.

The shifting of the steel rod during the tremor meant that Rabbit was now lying on the ground on his side, and the rod itself was no longer embedded deep in the earth. Its broken end was, however, buried beneath several huge blocks of rubble that Connie had no chance of being able to move. But she could now sit with her back leaning on a large concrete chunk and have Rabbit's head cushioned on her lap. It also meant that he was no longer suspended in the air, and he was, at least, able to get some rest.

 _If_ Connie could convince him to do so.

Once the shaking had ended, Connie had managed to swallow her terror and tend to Rabbit. Moving to sit in front of him, it had taken her a minute or two to convince him that she was alright, as she was subjected to a babbling enquiry between bouts of agonized coughing as to whether she was hurt. When she told him she was perfectly alright Rabbit lifted his hand, and cupping the back of her head he gently pulled her forward so that her forehead touched his, resting against his bandanna.

For long moments they sat quietly.

"Sweetheart … I … I gotta check your hurts, son. I'm fine, I promise." Connie patted his cheek and he vented a pitifully small puff of steam.

"O-O-Okay." He sighed a shallow sigh, trying hard not to cough. "Miz Connie?"

"Yeah, Rabbit?"

"I a-already lost Pappy. I … I dunno if my brothers or the guys a-a-are okay. I can't …" he took a painful breath … "I-I-I can't lose you too."

"Oh Rabbit … " Connie's voice hitched. "Oh son …" She lifted Rabbit's hand from the back of her head and held it to her cheek. "I ain't goin' nowhere - unless it's outta this goshdarned hole!"

Rabbit nodded to himself.

"Good," he said.

She set to and made sure he hadn't collected any more damage other than a few more dents here and there. Then, for the first time, she unbuttoned his vest and shirt as far as she could around the steel rod, and eased open the copper plate she found in his chest.

Gazing inside, she gasped in wonder. Rabbit's Blue Matter core glowed fitfully, illuminating Rabbit's workings … a beautiful array of ancient cogs and wheels clicked and whirred and ticked, although it was obvious that the damage caused by the steel bar punched through his left bellows was causing more glitches than Rabbit could deal with. He was also leaking oil and hydraulic fluid all over the damn' place. Long minutes passed as Rabbit lay patiently, letting Connie investigate the leaks and tie off broken lines, which would, in the short term, stop the loss of essential fluid.

But there was absolutely nothing she could do about the damaged bellows. Sighing, she closed the copper plate and tenderly buttoned Rabbit's shirt and vest. The temperature in this small, enclosed space was getting uncomfortably high, and she saw the sheen of condensation on Rabbit's metal face plates.

She opened one of their precious bottles of water and cajoled the automaton into drinking most of it. He immediately perked up a little, and Connie swallowed the last dregs of the bottle, the cool, mineralized water feeling wonderful in her parched mouth and throat. She just hoped that the minerals didn't do Rabbit any harm.

"Okay, boy, now ya gotta rest, y'hear?"

Rabbit pouted even as Connie scooshed around and gently lifted his head, laying it once more on her lap. She rubbed his shoulder to comfort him.

"I-I-I'm not shuttin' down, Miz Connie."

Connie Dawson recognized stubbornness when she heard it.

"Rabbit, ya gotta get some sleep! So damn' well shut down!"

But her gentle scolding didn't make a whit of difference.

"Nuh-uh."

"But – "

"Not n-n-nohow."

She looked down at him. His bottom lip was stuck out. She didn't know whether to laugh or tear him a new one. She finally settled for a deep sigh of exasperation.

"Why the hell not, boy?"

He mumbled something unintelligible.

"What did ya say?"

Rabbit coughed, and then glanced sideways at her.

"Might, uh, m-m-m-might not wake up." He admitted.

Oh. So _that_ was it. Connie wiped a grimy hand over her face, and then laid it palm down on his bandanna'd head, soothing him.

"That's okay, sweetheart. I understand. Tell ya what – how about a story? Would that help?"

Rabbit smiled his best quirky smile, exhausted though he was.

"How, uh, how 'bout I t-t-tell you one? I know lots of stories. Story-songs, even."

Connie nodded.

"Sounds fun. I don't know any story-songs."

Rabbit grinned.

"Miz Connie … h-have you ever heard of Rex Marksley?"

* * *

The meeting of the rest of the members of Steam Powered Giraffe in what was left of the courtyard of Miss Connie's Emporium (and Motel with gas) was one of quiet relief. Everyone (apart from The Jon) was too hurt and weary to do much more than a couple of shoulder-pats and tired grins.

Steve was till sleeping, but Michael explained how the sound engineer was now running a nasty fever and that he was concerned about infection in the open fracture.

The first thing The Spine did was get The Jon to make his way into Bussie's interior and dig out their large first aid kit and the two cases of water. It was discovered that the refrigerator was mysteriously still working (although Bussie's battery was disconnected), and The Jon managed to cram it with most of the sandwiches, bringing the rest out to be eaten almost immediately. A large bottle of water was used to quench thirsts and to clean up the cut on Sam's head. The Jon found some butterfly stitches in the first aid kit and applied them to the cut, and then strapped Sam's arm to his side using a wide bandage. Sam declared himself fit and raring to go.

The next few minutes saw The Jon effectively strip everything useful from Bussie and a steady stream of sleeping bags, clean clothes, screwdrivers and lots more were handed to Sam and Michael. A blanket was used as shade employing the same bits of wood from the previous shelter, and finally they allowed themselves to rest.

Steve slept through the whole thing.

The Spine didn't rest for long. He managed to get to his feet, and he slowly walked a few steps. Before him lay the crater where Connie's store had once stood. Guilt gnawed at his insides. He hadn't thought about how they were going to find out what had happened to Rabbit and Connie, but 116 years of watching out for others, especially in war zones, meant that he had to prioritize. Sam, Michael and Steve were all hurt, and humans came first. That had been drummed into him when they were sent to the trenches in 1917.

But now … now he could go find the rest of his family. And Connie was as good as family as far as the band was concerned.

He was about to turn back to the shelter and discuss plans, when he stopped, his head slightly tilted.

"Spine? What's goin' on?" The Jon appeared beside him, worried. His big brother was pushing himself to the brink, and the small automaton wanted to be beside him, helping if he could.

"Jon?" The Spine asked.

"Yeah?"

"Can you give me a hand to get over there?" He pointed at the crater.

"Oh, sure!"

Supported by his brother, The Spine slowly made his way over to the sunken pile of rubble within the shallow crater. It was a massive jumble of huge sections of concrete wall and tiled roof, interspersed with stark shadow indicating gaps in the pile. The largest of these air gaps was right in front of them.

The Spine picked his way carefully towards it, knowing that the stability of the situation was tenuous at best. Another aftershock, and the lot could inwardly collapse. He really didn't want to be standing on it when it did.

"Help me get down there Jon," he said, indicating an especially large block beside the large hole.

"Okee-doke. But be careful!" The Jon eased The Spine down on the block and stood beside him, instinctively knowing to be as quiet as a mouse. He was good at being quiet when he needed to be.

The Spine leaned forward, careful of his side, and listened. He listened very hard, squinting into the dark recess. And then he did something The Jon was certainly not expecting.

The Spine laughed. A genuine, deep throaty laugh, full of love and pleasure and relief.

The Jon was stumped.

"Why are ya laughin,' Spine?"

The tall robot turned green optics to his brother and grinned.

"Listen – " he said, chuckling.

The Jon leaned forward to join his brother and listened as hard as he could.

Deep, deep within the recesses of the crater, far below them he could hear something. He could hear … _what the_ … yep.

He could hear, faintly but clearly, the sound of somebody yodelling.

TBC


	14. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Connie Dawson was giggling. In this dark, dangerous environment, she was leaning back against a huge, cracked block of concrete surrounded by the wreckage of what had once been her store. She was hot, grimy, sore and trapped beneath tons of rubble, and she was giggling so hard that she wiped tears from her eyes.

On her lap rested the head of a copper automaton who was lying on his side pierced through the chest by a length of steel rod, and as he feebly sang the last verse of a song about a gunslinger who fought rattlesnake kings and taught jackalopes to sing in harmony, Connie placed her hand on his battered frame and soothed him through his pain.

The giggling was an uncontrolled reaction to the fear and horror of the past few hours, and her deep worries about this copper clockwork soul who had wormed his way into her heart with surprising ease. His attempt to cheer her up with the wonderfully absurd and magical story-song had been just the respite she needed.

As the last words died away, Connie's giggles turned to a soft chuckle and she looked down at Rabbit.

"Son, when we get outta here, I'm comin' to San Diego to see you fellers sing, I swear ta God!"

Rabbit moved slightly and winced, but Connie could see the wry smile on his face. His hand reached up to rest on Connie's, and she caught it in her fingers, holding it tight. Rabbit sighed happily. He had made Connie laugh, and that made him feel like a king.

"I-I got lots more, Miz Connie," he breathed. "A-An' ya gotta come visit Walter Manor! We're goin' ta show you the Hall o-of Wires, and meet Peter Walter Sixth, a-a-an' Michael will take you around the workshop … o-oh, an' you an' me … we're goin' ta visit Pappy an' feed the ducks …"

Rabbit continued to tell Connie all about his home and his life, and she listened intently. He was so earnest and desperate to please, this fatherless son … this ancient automaton … this veteran warrior … this heartbroken and scarred young man with the quirky grin and knowing ways.

As Rabbit shifted with sudden 'pain' Connie instinctively calmed him with a gentle touch, and thought about the other robots he called 'brother.'

The Spine … responsibility, care and tolerance, all wrapped up in a tall-drink-of-water of a soul, all long limbs and quaint mannerisms. But, Connie suspected, there was quite the sense of humour lurking beneath the surface and, she was absolutely sure, a deep, soul-destroying yearning to be human. She shook her head slightly. Didn't he know that he was already more human than most _real_ humans she'd met in her life?

And then there was The Jon … the baby brother … the golden child. But this 116-year-old 'child' had gone to war, had probably killed, and sometimes when she looked at his beautiful, other-worldly face she saw pain and sorrow the like of which she had never before encountered. He was all about hugs and love and butterflies and feelings, this one. Fiercely protected by his two older brothers, he was exasperating, utterly loveable, intuitive and, she had to admit, downright _odd_. He had known about the earthquake – he just hadn't been able to articulate or understand what he was feeling. The Jon was surreal, there was no denying it.

And, Connie was unashamed to say, she completely adored the lot of them. Along with Sam, Steve and Michael, she felt as though she had suddenly acquired a family of six … and all of them boys.

And they had saved her life. But … _oh dear lord_ … at what cost?

The sudden realization made her clap her hand to her mouth in despair. Rabbit was so badly hurt … and she had absolutely no idea if her other boys were alive. She was old, and lame, and not much use to anyone. And these precious souls had so much more to give. She hiccupped a tear.

"M-M-Miz Connie?"

She hastily wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaving teary smears in the dirt on her cheeks.

"Um … yeah, Rabbit? Are ya okay, sweetie?"

A grubby metal hand reached up shakily and touched her face.

"You're worth it." She could hear the smile in his voice.

What? Had she spoken out loud?

Rabbit chuckled weakly.

"H-Hugs. Ya give great hugs." He sobered. "It's, uh, i-it's nice. Nice to be loved." He nodded, more to himself than anything else. He hissed in 'pain,' and Connie hushed him, petting his shoulder.

"RABBIT!" The word echoed around their tiny space. Connie started in shock. The disembodied voice came again.

"RABBIT! CONNIE! ARE YOU OKAY?"

Rabbit jerked in surprise.

"Spine? SPINE!"

He tried to move, eagerly shifting limbs and lifting his head from Connie's lap, but he fell back, whimpering in agony. Connie instinctively cradled him in her arms.

"Be still, son, please!" she urged quietly. Then she looked around, trying to figure out where The Spine's voice was coming from. She glimpsed a faint shadow in the light filtering down from above. The shadow moved.

Reassuring a fraught Rabbit that she would be right back, she eased around and laid his head on the pitifully small pile of dishtowels for at least some comfort. Shuffling painfully across to the light, she looked up.

Immediately after the earthquake the light had been feeble, blocked by rubble and debris, but since the aftershock the light had improved considerably. She berated herself silently for not checking this out earlier, but she had been so taken up with tending to Rabbit that it had been 'way down the list of her immediate priorities. Now she could see a shaft – a very narrow one, to be sure, but it was clear of the larger blocks of concrete. It was barely a foot wide at the entrance but angled outwards slightly as it descended. But it looked terrifyingly dangerous – and completely impassable by either Rabbit or herself. Her lame leg and twisted ankle probably wouldn't support her weight, and even as she thought about it, she knew she wouldn't leave Rabbit.

Oh, God, how would they free Rabbit? They had to find a way to cut through the steel rod to free him and then get the very heavy automaton – plus what remained of the rod through his chest – up through the shaft. She was frightened that removing the rod before they could get him to a place where Michael could take care of him would lead to him 'bleeding' out with no way of stopping it.

Connie took a sharp breath.

"SPINE! CAN YOU HEAR ME, SON?"

She heard a muttered 'Thank God!'

"Spine! I can hear you loud an' clear, boy! Is everyone okay? Please tell me if everyone's –"

"We're all alive, Connie!" The Spine sounded exhausted but elated. "Some of us are a bit … battered, but we're all safe!"

Connie went boneless with relief, slumping back against the rubble wall of their tiny space.

"Miz Connie," Rabbit said softly. "M-My brothers – are they… " he was too frightened to say any more.

Connie scrabbled back to him and cupped his cheek, as she always did to settle him.

"They're fine, son. All of 'em. They made it."

"A-An' Michael? An' Sam? An' Steve?"

"Alive. Safe." She squeezed his hand in support.

Rabbit nodded and gave her his ever-so-slightly-manic grin.

"Never doubted it," he said boldly, letting his chassis relax from the tension.

"Rabbit, honey, you're an awful liar," Connie scolded, laughing softly, "But I don' care. I got all my boys back, an' they're safe. That's what matters. Now all we gotta do is get you an' me outta here."

"Th' Spine'll figure it out," Rabbit whispered confidently. "H-He's awesome that way."

"I know he will," replied Connie, knowing in her heart that no matter how awesome the tall automaton was, he had one helluva task before him – and he had said that there were injuries among the band. She chewed her lip anxiously.

She struggled back to the shaft and looked up. She saw to her delight a silver, fedora'd head peering down at her. She thought she had never seen anything so beautiful.

"Spine, sweetie – it's good ta see ya." She said.

The Jon's head peeked out beside the Spine's and he beamed and waved enthusiastically.

"MISS CONNIE! I MISSED YOU!" he hollered, making The Spine cringe at the noise. "IS RABBIT OKAY? WHY CAN'T WE SEE HIM?"

The Spine shushed him and looked down the shaft.

"Connie, is he alright?"

Connie swallowed. She had to tell them – they were Rabbit's brothers after all.

"He's … he's not doin' so good, son. He's trapped, an' his chest an' shoulder are hurt. One of his bellows ain't workin' either, an' he's been bleedin' inside. But I think I got all of the leaks tied off an' he doin' better. He conscious, though, an' I've been givin' him water to keep his boiler goin'." She smiled. "He's been singin'."

The Spine didn't speak for a moment.

 _I can't panic now. I just can't._ He took as deep a breath as his injured side would allow, and tried to keep his voice level and calm.

"Okay. Right." He nodded, thinking it through. "We need to try and widen the entrance here somehow. The surface isn't stable, so we'll have to be as careful as we can. Do you need anything? More water? Food? Medical supplies? This is going to take us some time."

Connie thought for a moment and glanced at Rabbit, now lying with his eyes closed, more relaxed than she had seen him since before the earthquake.

"I gotta say I'm starving. We could use somethin' to rest on, especially for Rabbit, an' maybe some electrical tape if you got some. Rabbit's oil lines're just tied off – I'd be happier if I could tape 'em closed. Oh, an' a bucket or somethin' similar."

The Spine was puzzled.

"Bucket?"

The Jon sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping.

"Spine, Connie's a LADY, an' she's HUMAN. When a lady's gotta go, she's GOTTA GO!"

"Oh … uh … right." The Spine hadn't thought about bathroom facilities. _That_ was awkward.

Connie grinned. Sometimes, she was sure, The Spine could be so … so … _unaware_.

"Son?" she called, "I guess you won't be gettin' anythin' finished by nightfall, an' we'd appreciate a blanket or somethin'. It can get pretty darned cold in the desert at night, an' you fellers will need to keep warm. Who's hurt?" Connie _had_ to ask.

The Spine didn't really want to worry her, but Connie Dawson wouldn't appreciate being lied to, and if … _when_ … she got free he knew there would be hell to pay.

_Here goes …_

"Michael's got several broken ribs and Sam's dislocated his shoulder. Jon put it back in place though – he had some training during the Second World War, back in '41." He hesitated. "Steve's got a broken leg and possibly a cracked pelvis, Jon says. Two breaks in his tibia, below the knee. One's clean and doing fine, but the other … it's pretty bad," he admitted.

Connie's heart lurched.

" _How_ bad?"

"An open break," said The Jon, seeing his brother hesitate at the worry in Connie's voice. "We've got it covered and clean, Miss Connie, but he's running a fever."

Connie, knowing she could physically do nothing, thought quickly. She realized that even if she was able to help, she could do no more than The Jon could do. Steve was in danger, that was certain.

Steve Negrete was tough, and his body had the benefit of both youth and being fit and healthy. He moved with the grace of an athlete, and if anyone had a chance of lasting out until help came, it was the young man with the smiling brown eyes and piratical grin couched in a whole heap of common-sense. He was a fighter, to be sure.

"Jon? Just keep him warm an' hydrated, boy, an' give him anythin' with _brufen_ in it to take down the fever. I don't think it's an infection just yet. Advil or somesuch if ya got it. It's not much, but it might help."

"Okee-doke!" came the answer.

"Oh, an' Jon!"

"Yeah?" The Jon peered back down the shaft at Connie.

"Son, ya did real good. I couldn't do better myself!" Connie smiled up at him. "When Rabbit and I get outta here, I'm gonna hug you until your rivets creak!"

The Jon beamed so widely The Spine thought his face-plates would rumple.

"Saint Pappers Claus is gonna bring me a cape with SuperTheJon on it. The Spine said so!"

"Jon, honey, if he _don't_ I aim to have words with that gentleman, I promise! Now go tell the others Rabbit and I are alive, and see if you can get some pain relief in Steve, will ya? He needs you more'n we do right now. An' while you're at it, make sure he ain't allergic, alright?"

"I will!" The Jon's grin got even wider. "I'm gonna be faster than a speeding bullet!"

And in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Connie closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them to study Rabbit for another second or two. He was lying as still as he could be with a steel rod through his chest, a small smile on his face.

Now then … she had something else to attend to.

"Spine? Spine, honey?" She gazed up at the silver automaton as she spoke as quietly as she could, trying to prevent Rabbit from hearing.

"Yes, ma'am?"

There it was again … that sweet gentility that was so much of The Spine's persona.

"Son … you're gonna talk to me now. How hurt are you?"

The Spine pretended to be confused.

"Uh … " He really wasn't very good at lying. "Hurt? I'm fi – "

"Don't try an' bamboozle me, boy – you may be a whole lot older'n me, but I still got nigh on fifty years of lookin' out for hurt folks, an' I can hear hurt in a voice, no matter that you're human or robot. So … I'll ask again, an' don't you try lyin' to me, 'cause I know 'bout these things. _How hurt are you_?"

Damn. She wasn't going to let it go.

The Spine tried hedging the subject.

"I'm not too bad, Connie – just a little bit of trouble – "

"The truth, son." Connie's voice was gentle. "I know you're tryin' to hold it together because you feel responsible for everyone … includin' me. But I already told you … if you don't look after yourself, you ain't any good to the others, now are you?"

The Spine looked up at nothing in particular, and squinted against the glare of the sun. Connie was trapped underground with his badly-damaged brother, with no help other than a bunch of cripples and a small, slightly-built robot who couldn't do it all on his own, and here she was, fussing over him as though she had nothing else to worry about.

He decided he'd just tell it straight.

"I have a hole in my side, Connie. Michael patched me up and taped all of the broken oil lines and hydraulics that he could, but some are so damaged he can't fix 'em. I'm bleeding inside, and I can't do anything about it. It's slow, but I'm feeling weaker by the hour. I don't know how long I can keep going."

There. He'd told her.

There was no reply. Just silence.

"Connie?"

"I … I'm here, boy. Just thinkin, is all." The Spine heard a deep breath, and then she continued. "Son, I need you to promise me that you'll try an' get some rest when you can, y'hear? You ain't no good to me or to Rabbit if you keel over an' pass out."

"Connie, I –"

"I know, I know … you ain't gonna stop while there's enough daylight to work, huh."

The Spine let a tiny grin quirk the corner of his mouth, despite the agony in his side and the utter weariness in his joints and back.

"I'll compromise, Connie. Jon and I will try and clear some of this stuff here at the entrance, but I doubt we can do too much today. So … so I guess I'll rest up tonight. I promise. I have to ask Michael to take another look at this damned big hole in my side anyway. It's kinda … _leaking_." He ducked his head, embarrassed, even though Connie couldn't really see him well.

He heard a rueful chuckle.

"Well, if that's what you wanna do, I ain't gonna argue with you, sweetie. Now then, I gotta tell you more now Jon ain't around. I don't wanna frighten him."

The Spine froze. This sounded _bad_.

"I need you to get me a hacksaw or somethin' like it," Connie continued.

_What was she talking about?_

"Connie, I don't understand – "

"Rabbit's trapped because he has a damn' great big steel bar straight though his chest." She continued bluntly. "It went right through his left shoulder and out the front, an' it's fixed at both ends. I'm gonna have to try to cut through it somehow, an' then he'll be free to get pulled outta here. If I don't … " her voice trailed off.

The Spine was appalled. He sat back, stunned.

"Son? You have to go find me somethin' I can cut it with. Maybe Jon can go look an' see if my ol' workshop is still standin' behind the house. I got some hacksaws for cuttin' metal in there. They're old, but they're sturdy an' I keep 'em sharp."

Sitting above ground on a beautiful sunny day amid breath-taking scenery, The Spine shook his head in utter despair. Things were just getting worse, and he could do nothing about it. _Okay_ , he thought to himself _. We have to deal with this. Rabbit's life depends on it, and Connie knows what she's doing. So, you idiot, let her do it_.

"I … I'll do what I can, Connie. As soon as Jon gets back here with your stuff, he'll be looking for that hacksaw. I'll see if Sam's fit enough to give us a hand to clear away some of this debris. I can't let Michael help. His ribs ..."

Down at the bottom of the rubble shaft, Connie privately agreed.

"That's okay son. It's not as though we're going anyplace, huh. An' I don't want any of you gettin' more hurt on account of me. Leave Rabbit to me. I may be a broken-down ol' biddy, but I sure know how to use a hacksaw, an' Rabbit an' I will be just fine. I'll take good care of him, I promise."

"I know," The Spine said softly. "If anybody can take care of Rabbit and put up with his nonsense, it's you."

Connie snorted, amused. "Oh, he ain't so bad – an' although he's stubborn he ain't nowhere near as bad as some _other_ robots I know!"

"Are you saying I'm stubborn?" he pseudo-growled, keeping up the pretence.

"You, m'boy, are worse'n a wall-eyed mule an' then some. But, as Rabbit would say, I loves ya anyways!"

For the first time in what seemed like days, The Spine grinned his charming, open grin that kept the fan-girls in a semi-permanent swoon.

"Okay, Miss Connie, I guess we'd better get to it. I'll wait until Jon gets back and we'll get to work."

For a moment there was silence from the darkness at the bottom of the shaft, and then Connie spoke so quietly that he barely heard her.

"Spine?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"Thank you. An' I'm sorry."

The Spine frowned, puzzled.

"Sorry? For what?"

"For gettin' all of you boys into this pickle."

"Miss Connie Dawson …" The Spine's voice was the gentlest she had ever heard, "You have nothing to be sorry for. You gave us a place to sleep, you fed us, you took care of us, healed us as best you could, and you're doing your damndest to keep my brother alive. We can't even begin to repay you for what you've done for us. And … " his voice tailed off.

"Spine? You okay?" Connie asked, concerned.

The Spine's voice when it came was rich with emotion.

"We take care of our own. We always have. You're family, Connie. _Family_. And in the long run, that's all that matters."

And Connie Dawson, even through her tears, had to agree.

* * *

Steve was having a 'moment' with his sound board.

He had finally woken from his fevered sleep and had dazedly demanded to know where his soundboard was. Luckily the big red-and-black digital console had been protected by its heavy portable metal casing during the earthquake, and Sam had hauled it over to the battered sound engineer, grousing every inch of the way.

Michael had helped his friend to sit up, propping him on a rolled-up comforter. Steve looked dreadful. Dark rings had appeared under his eyes, and he looked haunted, his eyes bright with fever and pain. For the first time, he suppressed a cough, lifting his hand instinctively to cover his mouth.

The big metal casing containing his precious console was sitting beside him, and he patted it affectionately.

"Are you alright, baby?" he crooned softly, "It's okay … daddy still loves ya."

The soundboard said nothing as it lay, safe and sound, in its heavy metal case. But Steve could tell it was happy to see him.

"You two need to get a room," Sam grumbled.

Steve ignored him. "Don't you listen to him – he's just jealous," he soothed. "Oh no!"

Michael perked up from his semi-doze beside the engineer. "What?" He instinctively checked Steve's leg under the comforter, "What's wrong?"

Steve pointed to a tiny dent in the shiny metal casing. "Dent!" he said, horrified.

Michael squinted at the tiny blemish. He stared at Steve.

"You have a bust-up leg, a pelvis that isn't working properly and you're running a fever, and you're worried about a _dent_?" He shook his head in quiet disbelief. "Dude, I worry about you sometimes …"

"That makes two of us," Sam muttered to himself. His head hurt and his shoulder was throbbing, and he was hot and sticky and –

"Michael?" Steve tensed.

"Yeah, buddy?"

Steve's face twitched, his right eye scrunching up.

"Guys … I think … I think …"

Sam's eyes widened in concern. What the hell was going wrong _now_?

Michael studied his friend's face. He had a sudden, very real fear that Steve was going into some sort of cardiac arrest, or seizure, or –

"Guys, I … I … I think I'm gonna … " Steve said feebly, his other eye now tightly closed.

"What? What're you gonna do?" asked Sam urgently, worried as hell.

"I … I'm gonna … SNEEZE!"

And sure enough, the engineer began to gulp air and try his best to stop whatever was coming, because, he knew, it was going to _hurt_.

Michael looked around wildly, as though he could conjure up an anti-sneeze device out of thin air, but Sam was ahead of him.

"Steve," he put his good hand on the engineer's chest to calm him, "Describe something … anything … oh! Oh, how about a D-rack? Describe a D-rack!"

Steve popped an eye open, caught in mid-gulp. He blinked rapidly, then got his breathing under control.

"O-okay … a D-rack … a D-rack works with – _gulp_ \- with … with the console … _jeez, here it comes_ … and a … a … CAT5E cable … to … to … _uh-oh_ – "

He sneezed. A humungous, wet, breath-depriving sneeze that twisted him into all sorts of agony as his body wrenched sideways. His arm jerked outwards and Sam caught him by the hand, allowing Steve to hang on to it for grim death and ride out the pain. Sam bared his teeth in a grimace as Steve's grip tightened and numbed every nerve in his fingers.

By the time Steve had got through it all and released his grip on Sam's hand, Michael was busy re-evaluating what was going on in the engineer's battered frame.

"You don't have an infection," he declared suddenly. "You're running a fever … you have a cough … now you're sneezing, and _God_ , the green stuff … " he wrinkled his nose as he dug out a fairly clean rag from his tool box and handed it to Steve, now sniffling noisily – "I think – I think … do your joints ache?"

Steve raised an eyebrow at his friend even as he blew his nose, expelling a disgusting amount of snot. He pondered for a second. "I dunno – perhaps the fact that I _have a broken leg_ kinda took my mind off it! But yeah … I feel _damned_ achy."

"Headache?"

" _Broken leg_ , Michael! Of _course_ I have a headache! But thinking about it … I've been feeling a little out of sorts lately. I just put it down to tiredness an' stuff."

Michael looked at the recumbent Negrete.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"You have the 'flu."

"No I don't. My leg's broke and I have an infection and I'm going to have to have it amputated and I'm gonna look funny and not be able to do parkour any more and … and …" His face rumpled as he finally voiced his fears.

"No, you're not," Michael said quietly. "Steve – it isn't your leg … well, not as far as I can see. We've got it clean and covered, but you don't get green snot from a broken leg. But I'm pretty sure you _do_ have a dose of the 'flu – or a bad cold, at any rate. Sore throat?"

"Uh … yeah, now I come to think of it."

"'Flu."

"Well, _hell_ …" Steve said, then coughed. "Ow."

"GUYS!"

They all turned to see The Jon running towards them, arms waving and a big grin on his face

"GUYS! RABBIT AND CONNIE! THEY'RE ALIVE!" He stumbled the last few feet and tumbled into the makeshift shelter. The human members of the band shrank back as well as they could to avoid being squashed by a very exuberant brassold automaton who, in his excitement, wasn't really watching where he was going.

Miraculously, no-one was crushed or otherwise injured, and The Jon scrambled up onto his scratched knees, Michael helping as much as he could.

Everyone began talking at once.

"You saw them? You sure?" Michael's blue gaze was shining with hope.

"Are they alright? Damnation, Jon, they're still alive underneath all that crap!" Sam's moustache quivered as the emotion hit. He scrabbled tears from his eyes.

Steve Negrete weakly punched the air, snotty rag and all.

"BOOYAH!" He sneezed painfully.

"Yep!" blurted The Jon. Words came tumbling out. "Connie's fine, but Rabbit, he's hurt, Connie says, an' she needs something to eat and a bucket and a blanket and medical supplies and – "

"Whoa, there, Tex!" Sam said, "Slow down! Waddya mean, Rabbit's hurt?"

The Jon turned to Sam, breathing heavily and his face a mixture of relief and fear. "He's trapped, Connie says. Connie says we haveta – "

"Slow down, Jon, please!" Michael was now very worried indeed. "How … how bad is he?"

The Jon thought hard. "Weeeelll … Connie says he's trapped, and his chest is all sore an' one of his bellows isn't working right and he's been leaking oil but she's kinda fixed that and – "

"O-Okay, Jon … we got it." Michael was so tired, and he was _so_ in pain, and he didn't know how they were going to deal with this. But, he knew in his heart, they would damn' well try. Soooo … first things first. He took as deep a breath as he dared and thought the situation through.

"Where's The Spine?" he asked.

"Staying with Connie and Rabbit." The corners of The Jon's mouth drooped. "I don't think he wanted them to be alone. And I think he's not feeling too good," he added. "But … but there's a hole that we can see into and I've seen Connie. She looked tired, Michael. But the hole isn't wide enough to get them out. We have to move lots an' lots of rocks and stuff. The Spine and I are going to try and move what we can until there's no more light. Connie says Spine has to rest after that." He took a short, huffing breath. "Connie says."

"Well, Connie's right. But we have to get some things together for them and keep them going. Most of that stuff we have, but a bucket? Why does she need a bucket?" Michael was mystified.

"Oh, fer cryin' out loud …" The Jon looked exasperated, although he didn't realize how much he sounded just like The Spine. "Connie … LADY … HUMAN … hasta _GO_! I already had to explain that to The Spine!"

The humans got it.

"Oh," added The Jon, "we need some pain stuff for Steve. Connie says Advil." He looked at Steve intently. "Connie says to ask if you're 'lergic."

"Only thing I'm allergic to is a broken leg," Steve rasped. "Bring on the pills."

Over the next thirty minutes the able-bodied and not-so-able-bodied members of Steam Powered Giraffe gathered together some supplies, including a selection of chilled sandwiches, some electrical tape and a thick, warm comforter for the encroaching night. The Jon found a bucket behind the remains of Connie's house. Now all they had to do was get the supplies down the shaft.

"That's easy," said Steve, his smile ever-so-slightly loopy. He certainly wasn't allergic to the pain meds The Jon had rooted out of their first aid kit, but they did make him a little punchy. "CAT5E digital snake."

"Huh?" blinked Sam.

Steve gesticulated nonchalantly. "Seventy-five metres of ethernet cable. Stroooooong stuff. That's a whole two-hundred and forty-six feet of electrical awesomness." He gave them a cheery (if slighty eerie) grin.

Michael shrugged. "Sounds like it'll work."

"We don't have a choice," Sam said firmly.

"Bandannas," Steve added, sounding freakishly chipper.

Michael's eyebrows hit his hairline. "Bandannas." He leaned forward and felt Steve's forehead. It was still burning, but the engineer didn't seem to feel it. "Bandannas, Steve. What about bandannas?"

Steve snorted derisively. "Use 'em to tie together and carry the _stuff_ in, of course!" he tapped his head. "Common sense."

Michael and Sam looked at one another. Then Sam hauled himself to his feet, and trudging around to Steve's now somewhat battered suitcase, popped the lid and rummaged for a few minutes before returning with a small pile of neatly-pressed bandannas.

"Yeah," Steve rumbled, "Connie'll like those." He grinned wickedly. " _Dragons_."

The Jon dug out the roll of cable, and they fashioned a hefty bag of supplies which The Jon heaved over his shoulder. He looked as though he was setting out for an Awfully Big Adventure. Sam grunted with discomfort as he pulled the heavy coiled cable over his good shoulder.

"Are you going to be able to help, Sam? You're not in the best shape." Michael squinted up at the drummer from his seat beside Steve.

Sam shrugged. "No choice. I'm in better condition than you two wrecks, and Spine's not doing so good either. Jon can't do it all on his own. It's logistics."

Michael nodded wordlessly.

Sam turned, hefted the cable once more, and set off after The Jon to see just how the hell they were going to get Rabbit and Connie out of danger.

TBC


	15. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Sam and The Jon found The Spine sitting quietly on a block of concrete beside the entrance to the shaft, head hanging, and, Sam thought, looking very much worse for wear. The drummer carefully picked his way through the piles of debris and lowered the cable to the ground. The Jon cheerily dumped the heavy pack onto a pile of rather shaky-looking rubble, making Sam give a nervous twitch.

"Don't _do_ that, Jon! We don't know how safe this place is, okay? And you don't want the whole mess falling in on Rabbit and Connie, now do ya?"

The Jon remained unfazed. "Don't worry, Sam – it won't." His ear-to-ear grin appeared for a moment or two before he put his mind to other things. The golden robot crouched down beside The Spine and touched his shoulder.

"Spine?" The Jon's voice was low and gentle. "Spine, we're back."

"Hmmm …?" The Spine stirred wearily, and with optics blinking, raised his head and looked back at The Jon. "Oh … hey, sport." He smiled a one-sided smile, as if his mouth was just too tired to finish the job.

"Is that you, Jon-boy?" Connie's voice filtered from the deep shaft beside The Spine.

"Yes, Connie, it's me! An' I got Sam with me!"

"SAM! Sam, honey, are you alright? I've been chewin' my nails down to the knuckles worryin' about y'all! Speak to me, son! I just wanna hear your voice an' know you're okay!"

Sam leaned over the side of the shaft and could just see Connie's pale face in the half-light. He wished he had his spectacles.

"Connie! Oh my lord, it's good to see you! I'm fine. Got a bit of a dent in my head and my shoulder's shot to hell, but I'm alive. And you … " Sam hesitated, "You and Rabbit. How … " He couldn't finish the sentence.

"We're holdin' on in there, sweetie. Don't worry about us. Rabbit's … not so good, but he's awake and I'm doin' what I can to keep him that way." She paused for a moment. " Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"The Spine … I haven't heard him move or speak for the past ten minutes or so."

Sam glanced over to where The Jon was talking softly to his brother. The Spine looked about ready to pass out, but with his little brother's help he stood up, flexed his good shoulder and worked the kinks out of his titanium vertebrae.

"I'm okay, Connie," he said hoarsely, "I was just taking a few moments to rest. That's what you told me to do, remember?"

Sam could hear the faint smile in his voice, and Connie breathed a noisy sigh of relief.

"Good. You sound about ready to keel over, son. But ten minutes rest is better than nothin,' I guess."

"We've brought some goodies for ya, Connie. Including, I may say, a very nice bucket," Sam teased.

Connie burst out laughing, only to stop for a moment as Rabbit said something Sam couldn't quite hear. Connie's laughter turned to a feminine guffaw.

"What's he saying?" Sam asked, perplexed.

"He wants to know why I need a bucket."

The Spine chuckled, and for some reason, it made him feel better. He turned to The Jon who stood beside him.

"Okay, Jon – I need you to do something for me. Go look and see if Connie's workshop isn't too damaged, and try and find a hacksaw. _Any_ hacksaw. Bring 'em back here if you do."

The Jon's face-plates shifted in surprise.

"Oh. Okay." Without questioning his brother's request, he turned to do just that, only to be caught by the elbow by The Spine.

"Jon … be careful. If it doesn't look safe, don't do it, understand? Promise me? I can't dig you out of a hole too. I can't … I … " His knees buckled slightly and The Jon wriggled out of his grip and supported him before he fell.

The Jon agreed quietly. "I promise, Spine. I won't."

The Spine steadied himself just in time and gritting his teeth against the 'pain,' turned to Sam.

"While Jon's doing that, I think we'd better get this stuff down to Connie and Rabbit, and then get to work. Are you ready, Sam?"

Sam shook his head and then decided that it was a bad move as the gash in his head throbbed even more. "Nope."

The Spine nodded, understanding. "Good." He carefully moved to the roll of cable and began unravelling it. The Jon rested his hand on his brother's arm for a second, and then turned and headed back to Connie's house to see if anything could be salvaged in what was left of her workshop.

Sam looked at the collection of supplies sitting on the rubble, and tweaked his moustache in thought.

"Well, _this_ is going to be interesting," he muttered, and set to work.

* * *

Getting the supplies down the narrow shaft turned out to be problematical, to say the least.

Connie's precious bucket, which although small, was still a fraction too big to get past a jutting lump of concrete three feet below the surface.

After being attached to the cable they spent a few frustrating minutes trying to persuade it to sit _just so_ in the shaft and enable it to skitter past the obstacle. The Spine, never one to procrastinate, took the decision to squeeze the top rim a fraction so the bucket wasn't quite circular. It bowed the base a little, but after loading the bucket with as many supplies as they could, it slipped through the gap with a hair's breadth to spare. After that, the bucket became worth its weight in gold as it ferried everything from sandwiches to a couple of pillows down to a waiting Connie. The biggest problem was the comforter. It was, as Sam described it, 'foofy,' being a good quality down comforter, and it was most reluctant to be squashed like a piece of baggage down a deep, dark hole. After wasting a good twenty minutes cursing at the thing, Sam gave it a good talking-to, and it finally allowed itself to be alternately pushed and pulled down the shaft to Connie's eager hands.

As far as Connie was concerned, it was like Christmas. The first thing she did was ease one of Michael's precious purple cushions beneath Rabbit's head.

"Is that better, son?" she murmured softly.

Rabbit smiled weakly.

"Uh-huh." His voice was dry and raspy.

"Ya need more water?"

"N-No. You drink, Miz Connie. You're hurt. B-Bad ankle." His optics closed and opened sleepily. He tried to vent some steam, but nothing came of it.

Connie dug out another of their small bottles of water, and unscrewing the top, gave Rabbit a stern look.

"Rabbit honey, you need to get this in you. You're runnin' on vapour, boy."

Rabbit glared at her, trying hard to be stubborn but failing miserably.

Connie pressed her advantage.

"Sweetheart, I know when you're talkin' in two-word sentences that you ain't got enough water in yer boiler. I'll share the bottle with ya, okay?"

Wordlessly Rabbit agreed, and Connie helped him to drink down most of the now-lukewarm fluid, but this time it took much longer. Rabbit was oddly lethargic, and each small mouthful of water took quite a while to trickle down to his boiler.

After swallowing the remainder of the water, Connie lifted the electrical tape and showed it to Rabbit.

"Now I can tape off those leaks, son. You'll feel a little better an' I'll be happier that you ain't losin' any more fluids, alright?"

Rabbit nodded, not saying a word, and she saw his photo-receptors flicker. She knew he was desperately weary and needed to power down, but she also knew that he would fight to his last cog and plate against the mere idea of it. She really didn't know how long he could last, and her stomach churned in terror.

"Connie? Connie-girl?" Sam's soft voice interrupted her thoughts, and she was suddenly thankful for the distraction.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Uh, Jon's gone to look through your workshop and The Spine and I're going to try and shift some of this crap at the entrance. If we can widen it and get rid of that bit of junk sticking out into the shaft, we might be able to get _you_ out at least. We have to think some more about moving Rabbit." He took a moment to marshal his thoughts. "We're open to suggestions," he added hesitantly.

Connie pursed her lips. So, her boys hadn't figured it out yet. _But they will_ , she thought. _My boys can do anything they put their mind to._ And if The Jon could find at least one of her hacksaws and she could maybe … just _maybe_ … manage to saw through the steel rod, then that would be one less obstacle to overcome.

"Okay, Sam. You just do what ya have to do, an' don't worry about us. We'll be fine."

Standing under the glaring sun, Sam wiped sweat from his face and nodded. He glanced over to The Spine, standing stock still beside the entrance, head bowed, trying to conserve what strength he had left. He slowly moved across to his friend.

"Spine?"

The tall automaton blinked his optics and took a shallow breath.

"I'm ready, Sam. We only have two or three hours of daylight left, so let's try and do what we can. Even if we just move the worst of the rubble at the entrance before nightfall, we'll have the chance to make a better start in the morning."

Sam Luke studied The Spine for a moment. He looked down at the taped hole in the robot's side, and he swallowed nervously. Fresh oil and hydraulic fluid glistened as it now soaked The Spine's pants at his hip and upper thigh. The leak of fluids was getting alarming.

"Spine, you – "

The Spine nodded.

"I know. But we have no choice. Let's get to work."

* * *

And work they did. Sam dug around finding edges and weaknesses in the rubble, and The Spine slowly worked away at heaving blocks of concrete carefully away from the shaft entrance, trying his best not to disturb the fragile balance of the debris around and beneath them. Sam helped as much as he could, but his damaged shoulder hampered him more than he would admit.

Sam marvelled at The Spine's patience. Every time they readied themselves to move a block, the silver robot would tell Connie and Rabbit what was happening, and to yell out if they were worried by anything, and then he would slowly and surely move impossibly heavy concrete chunks with his good hand. Sam knew he was hurting badly, but The Spine never let out a sound. He was stoicism personified, and with each movement Sam saw the patch of oil and hydraulic fluid at The Spine's side grow. He didn't know how long his friend could keep this amount of strenuous activity going, but he knew in his heart that The Spine couldn't continue for much longer.

Two hours later, as the sun dipped towards the horizon, he got his answer.

They had managed to widen the top couple of feet of the entrance, and The Spine was now trying to get to the protruding chunk of material jutting from the side of the shaft. It was a slow process, and he was lying on his chest with his hand working around the edges of the block over a foot below him, trying to find its edges and searching for the best place to begin excavating. Another large piece of rubble was jammed sideways against the block, and The Spine realised that if they had any chance of moving the obstacle, this piece of debris would have to be moved first.

He spent ten minutes clearing away small stones and fragments of concrete away from the edge, dislodging a few larger stones down the shaft. He heard Connie's sharp intake of breath, and he hastened to reassure her.

"It … it's okay, Connie. Just a few bits of dirt." He leaned over slightly and rested his head against the coolness of a large rock fragment beside him. It hurt to breathe. "We're going to … " His voice tailed off.

"Spine?" Connie's voice was concerned. "Son?"

Sam crouched down beside The Spine, worried. The automaton lifted his head and blinked.

"I … I'm okay … got to … got to keep going …" His voice box was dry.

"Spine, you gotta stop – " Sam rested his hand on his friend's shoulder.

The Spine shook his head doggedly.

"No. I can't. I have to get … get to – "

"Spine, honey." Connie's voice was low and calm. " Stop. You're killin' yourself. Rabbit and I ain't gonna get out of here if you don't give yourself some down time. Go rest an' get Michael to look at your hurts. We're not too bad here. When Jon gets back we'll take it from there, but right now – _right now_ – you _stop_ , y'hear me?"

Silence reigned for a few moments, and then The Spine nodded.

"I … I'm sorry, Connie."

"Nothin' to be sorry for, boy. Sam?"

Sam peered down the shaft and could just make out Connie's face in the encroaching gloom.

"Yeah?"

"You'll make sure he does as he's told, wontcha?"

Sam grinned.

"Indeed I will, Connie. I have no idea if I'll be able to get him up on his feet, mind you … he weighs a ton – literally. But we'll manage."

"SPINE!"

Both Sam and The Spine looked up to see the silhouette of a small, slight robot trotting towards them with something in his hand that they couldn't quite make out against the backdrop of the setting sun.

The Jon made his way over to his big brother, and for the first time he looked weary and worn. But triumph was plastered all over his face as he held up two hacksaws, one much smaller than the other. One of his hands was also heavily wrapped in an old towel he'd found somewhere.

"Look! Found 'em!" He sat down beside The Spine, and his cheerful grin changed instantly to fear and concern. "Oh! Oh Spine! Oh no! You … you're … Sam! Sam, Spine's a lot worse!"

The Spine reached out with his good hand and squeezed his little brother's shoulder.

"I – I'll be okay, Jon. I just need some help to get back to the others and I'll let Michael check me out. I promise. What's wrong with your hand?"

The Jon held up the bandaged limb.

"Oh, this? I just cut it a little bit. On these!"

He held up the two hacksaws with his other hand.

The Spine struggled to sit up, and The Jon gently helped him lean back against the rubble.

"See? I found the hacksaws! SuperTheJon saves the day!"

The Spine took the larger of the hacksaws and studied it closely. It was a big, sturdy beast of a thing, and he marvelled that Connie could even handle it let alone use it. But as he checked out the blade, his hopes were dashed. For several inches along the cutting edge in the centre of the blade, the teeth were bent and twisted. It was useless. They were back to square one.

Biting back his bitterness, he looked up at The Jon, sitting beside him and grinning.

"Good job, Jon. Good job. Let's have a look at the other one."

As The Jon handed The Spine the smaller hacksaw, the silver automaton knew instantly that it was simply too fragile and small to make much of an impression on a one-inch-thick steel reinforcing rod. It might have other uses, but as an instrument of freedom for Rabbit … it was of no use whatever. Nevertheless, he patted The Jon on his shoulder, and then took his little brother's wounded hand in his and clumsily unwrapped the oil-sodden material wrapped around it.

He winced at the gaping gash in the malleable brass palm, exposing pulleys and servos, severed lines and frayed synthetic tendons. He raised an eyebrow, trying to keep as calm as he could so as not to alarm his brother.

"I thought I told you to be careful, Jon. We need you, buddy."

"Oh, this is nothing," The Jon said lightly. "I just caught it on the hacksaw as I pulled it out of a big pile of rocks. Michael can fix it. We need the hacksaws ta help Rabbit."

Sam's jaw dropped.

"How … how did – "

"You look like a fish, Sam!" The Jon quipped.

Sam's jaw snapped back into place.

"I'm _SuperTheJon_ , remember. I know _everything_." The Jon gently removed his hand and re-bandaged it, and then looked into The Spine's pain-filled optics. "Don't worry, Spine. We'll fix it. Ask Steve."

The Spine was puzzled. "Steve?"

The Jon didn't answer, but smiled his sweet, all-knowing smile that Connie loved so much. He twisted around and peered down the shaft to see Connie looking back at him.

"I got the hacksaws, Miss Connie. We'll send 'em down in the morning. We gotta work on them first."

Connie nodded. She had no idea what The Jon meant by 'work on them,' but she trusted the little 'bot's knack of knowing the unknowable.

"Okay, sweetie. Rabbit an' me'll settle down for the night. You boys take care of yourselves, y'hear?"

"We will. Oh … Miss Connie?"

"Yeah, son?"

"Rabbit likes hugs when he's not feeling too good. An' he doesn't sleep too well." The Jon frowned sadly. "Ya know he gets nightmares."

"Yes, boy, I know. I promise I'll look after him as if …" Her voice tailed off. She meant to say 'As if he was my own son.'

The Jon's smile warmed her heart. "I know ya will, Miss Connie. I'll get Spine back to the others an' make sure he gets looked after, and then I'll be back. I'm going to sleep under the stars! Right here! Love ya!"

"Love you too, sweetie," she whispered in reply. "Love all of ya."

The Jon watched her as she disappeared into the small space she shared with Rabbit, and then he turned back to the Spine.

"C'mon, Spine. I got to get you back to Michael. Allez-oop!"

He tucked himself under The Spine's arm, and with his gentle pulling and The Spine struggling and then managing to get his feet under him, they both stood up, the silver robot leaning heavily on his brassold brother. The Jon grunted with the effort of keeping his brother upright, but with a bit of co-ordinated re-balancing and a muttered " _One_ -and-a- _two_ -and-a- _three_ " they slowly made their way back to the shelter where Michael was beginning to put together a meal from their meagre rations. Sam walked behind them carrying the two useless hacksaws.

Michael looked up into the gathering twilight at the approaching trio, and without saying a word, reached for his toolkit and spread out a warm blanket and a couple of cushions beside him.

Steve watched from his place on the mattress as The Jon lowered his injured brother onto the makeshift bed, despite The Spine's protests that he would leak oil and hydraulic fluid all over the clean blanket. He also listened to The Spine announce that all he needed was to power down for a while and for Michael to put some fresh packing in his side, and that he would relieve The Jon in his Connie-and-Rabbit vigil in a few hours. After the umpteenth "I'm fine, really" from the tall robot, Steve had finally had enough.

"Spine?"

"Y-yeah, Steve?"

Steve sneezed, wiped his nose and glowered.

"Shut up. _Now_. Enough of the 'noble robot' routine. You're hurt. _Deal with it_."

The Spine opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again with a snap. He shut up.

"I'm gonna need some light here," Michael muttered as he unbuttoned The Spine's shirt and began to snip through the oil-sodden duct tape at his friend's side. Steve handed him one of their two small wind-up eco-lamps. The light wasn't much, but it had to do. Michael's sharp intake of breath as he began to remove the soaked packing was enough to tell his friends how bad the injury had become. "Spine," Michael said, "Why didn't you come and have this looked at before now? I could have made you a little more comfortable if nothing else."

The Spine didn't answer and turned his head away.

Michael shook his head.

"Yeah. I know. More important things to do. It'd be best if you powered down for this – it's gonna hurt, and you need the rest anyway."

Without a word, The Spine powered down, his entire body becoming unresponsive and his photo-receptors dimming markedly. All Michael could hear was the faint hum of The Spine's Blue Matter core keeping him ticking over.

The mechanic looked at his friend for a moment. He rested his hand on The Spine's chest where the Blue Matter core glowed with life.

"Always doing your best," he murmured to the still figure. "This time Spine, you've done more than anyone can ask for. Now you have to let us take the weight for a little bit. I know we're all banged up, but you can take a breather, my friend. We got your back."

Michael felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Steve gazing back at him.

"An' we got yours, Michael. Take care of him. We'll do what we can, okay?"

Sam crouched down beside his friends. It felt as though every bone in his body was on fire, and he was desperate for a drink of water, but he had other things to do first. He proffered the two hacksaws to Steve.

"We need these to cut Rabbit free. He's got a damned big steel rod right through him, an' he's hurt bad. Connie needs to cut through the rod so we can get him outta that frikkin' hole in one piece. Then Michael can find a way of removing the thing without killing him – sorry, Michael," he added wearily. Just one more thing for the mechanic to fret about. "But the teeth are screwed up on the big one – the useful one - and The Jon says you might be able to help."

Steve wiped his hand over his face. _Jeez_. _Doesn't it ever end_?

Nevertheless, he took the two hacksaws and dropping the smaller to the mattress, he squinted at the blade on the larger hacksaw. He couldn't see the detail in the darkening evening, so he looked around for his tools.

"Sam, any way you can dig out my work stuff? It should be by Bussie someplace. I hope it didn't disappear into the void."

Sam nodded, even though he was exhausted.

"I'll go look. Anything else you need?"

Steve frowned, thinking. He gauged an inch-length of the blade and using his finger-tips in the gloom, he tried to count the number of teeth per inch. He smiled grimly.

"We're in luck – I think it's a fourteen-tooth pitch. This should cut the bar if I can fix these teeth. Sam, make sure I have pliers, some small rasps, an' I'll need my headband light. Oh, and if you can find my spectacles, I'd be grateful." He coughed, wincing as the action jarred his leg, but now he had something to occupy his mind. "I got a small flashlight too, somewhere. If that turns up, we can use it. I can't smell any gasoline fumes, so I'm pretty sure the underground fuel reservoirs are holding okay, so we should be alright to use a battery-driven flashlight." His eyes widened for a second. "I hope," he added.

"Okay. Will do." Sam gave Steve a fleeting grin. "You're looking better. Must be because you have something to do, huh."

Steve returned Sam's grin with a wolfish smile of his own.

"You betcha! Sittin' here doing nothing but hurt is driving me nuts, especially considering the situation we're in." His features softened. "Sorry, Sam – I should be asking Jon. He's in good shape."

Sam shook his head.

"Nah. He needs to be with The Spine right now," he glanced over to where The Jon sat beside The Spine, holding the lamp up for Michael as the mechanic carefully teased out the filthy rags from the wound in the silver robot's side, "And I'm already on my feet. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Thanks, man." Steve relaxed and settled down to wait, running his fingers along the twisted teeth of metal on the big hacksaw. He didn't know if he could do much in the way of repairs, but he would do his damndest to try.

He heard Michael's frustrated muttering as he worked desperately to fix what he could within The Spine's battered chassis, and he could almost feel the worry emanating from The Jon. He fretted because he couldn't help out in freeing Rabbit and Connie, and he felt guilty that Sam was exhausted and in pain and still working his butt off while he, Steve Negrete, was doing diddly-squat and causing difficulties for his friends. If he could do this … if he could make this dratted hacksaw work and if Connie could use it to free Rabbit … this way, at least, he felt as though he was pulling his weight.

He blew his nose, coughed himself silly, and then prepared to do what he could to save his family.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, Michael awoke to throbbing pain in his side. It took him a few minutes to shift himself up onto his elbow and reach for a painkiller. They didn't have many to spare, so he broke one in half and dry-swallowed it, and then eased himself back under his sleeping bag, waiting for the pain to dull a little.

Beside him he caught the beam of a headband flashlight, and he heard a muffled "Gogha!"

Turning his head, he saw Steve, propped up on his rolled comforter and surrounded by his tool kit, working away, trying to very gently straighten the bent teeth on the large hacksaw. A small file was held between his lips and he was using a pair of needle-nosed pliers to manipulate a particularly stubborn tooth.

"You okay, Steve?" he whispered.

"Uh-huh."

"How's it goin'?" Michael asked.

"Googh" Steve replied around the file he held in his mouth.

"Good, huh?"

"Yegh."

"Pain not too bad?"

"Nogh."

"Need anything?"

"Nogh."

"I'll leave you to it then."

"Googh."

Smiling despite his soreness, Michael quickly checked out The Spine. He was out like a light. His side had been cleaned up and Michael had taken the opportunity to tie off and tape more lines, so the leakage was now confined to a slow drip. It wasn't ideal, but it would help a little. Sam snored fitfully beside The Spine, his bad shoulder making him wince in his sleep. In the distance he could see the faint blue glow of a pair of photo-receptors. The Jon was tucked under a comforter keeping guard over Rabbit and Connie, and he knew the little 'bot was gazing in wonder at the magnificent drift of stars above him. Michael hoped that Connie and Rabbit were managing to get some rest.

Sighing, he pulled his sleeping bag up over his head and nodded off.

* * *

Connie had dozed for a while, but Rabbit's feverish twitching had woken her, so now she lay curled up beside the automaton, warm and cosy under the down comforter, her hand resting on Rabbit's head because she knew he needed the contact. She could see by the faint green and blue light of his photo-receptors that he was trying _so_ hard to stay awake. He was so frightened, and trying to be brave for her and to keep her company, and all she wanted was for him to power down and rest. The Spine was right. Rabbit was the stubbornest critter she had ever met. And she loved him to bits.

Rabbit coughed and took a hitching breath. Connie stroked his bandanna'd head and shifted more of the comforter over his lax chassis. Rabbit's joints didn't like the cold, and the dampness of the condensation from the daytime heat had made him stiff and even more glitchy than usual, so she tried to keep him warm. Rabbit alternately scolded her, telling her she should use the comforter for herself and not to worry about him, and the next moment he would murmur contentedly to himself knowing the heat helped his old joints.

"M-Miz Connie?" Rabbit's voice was weaker now. "Sergeant Dan … "

Connie's heart did a little shift in her chest. She had not been expecting this.

"Dan? You want to know about my Dan?"

Rabbit's head nodded imperceptibly.

She took a deep, shaky breath. She hadn't spoken about Dan in decades. It had hurt too much.

"He, ah … my Dan … he was _special_." Connie began. Her voice hitched, and Rabbit made quiet, glitchy sympathetic noises. "My Dan … I met him when I was seventeen. I was young, an' gettin' radical – it was the sixties, remember – and he was everythin' I ever wanted. Tall – _so_ tall, as tall as you. You must be six feet or so, right?" Rabbit nodded. He only looked medium-sized next to The Spine. "Well, he was tall next to me." Connie chuckled as the words became easier to say. "Dark hair, blue eyes like Michael's. An' a smile … a smile that made the day glow. An' _funny_. Lord, he made me laugh."

"J-Just like me." Rabbit whispered.

Connie giggled. "Yeah, son, just like you. An' I guess that's why I love y'all so much. Each one of you reminds me of my Dan in some way." She took a deep breath. "When I was eighteen I left home – my family an' I … we didn't get on … an' Dan had a job on the fishin' boats outta San Francisco. Six months later he was drafted."

"Marines …"

"Yeah. U.S. Marines. _Semper Fi_ ," she added bitterly. "He did two tours. After he began his second tour, I found out I was expectin' Cathy … Catherine … an' Dan was so tickled he was goin' to be a daddy. We were goin' to be married when he got home. He didn't live long enough to marry me or to see his girl."

Rabbit flinched. Connie patted his shoulder through the comforter.

"Not your fault, son, I already told you that. But I haveta say, it wasn't easy raisin' a child on my own back then. Bein' an unmarried mother brought a whole pile of grief, an' it wasn't easy on either of us. I trained as a nurse while bringin' up Cathy, an' she had a hard time of it. I don't think she ever forgave me. As if it was my fault her daddy died." Connie sighed. Then she brightened. "She got herself a good education, though. She's a lawyer in Los Angeles, got a nice husband, an' I got my grand-daughter Sarah, who's more like me than Cathy would care to admit. I moved out here when I retired, an' I love it. My time's my own, an' I can play around with doin' my arty stuff that I used ta do when I was a girl."

"Cathy … lost her P-P-Pappy too."

"Yeah, sweetheart." Connie wiped away a tear. "She lost her Pappy too. An' I lost the love of my life."

"W-W-We … we loves ya, Miz Connie."

"I know ya do, son." Connie gave Rabbit a gentle hug. "I know ya do. An' I loves ya too."

"AND ME!" came a The Jon-like yell from the surface. "I loves _EVERYBODY_!"

Connie burst out laughing, and was still chuckling when she drifted off to sleep some time later, knowing two of her boys were close by.

* * *

The early morning chill woke Sam Luke, and immediately reminded him that he had to get up and answer the Call of the Bladder.

The sun was coming up, hinting at another beautiful day, and Sam stiffly climbed out of his sleeping bag. Around him were the scattered sleeping bodies of his friends, including Steve, who dozed fitfully, the large hacksaw clutched to his chest. The only thing he could see of Michael was a tuft of hair peeping out of the top of his sleeping bag, and The Spine still lay sprawled on his back, now safely under a comforter.

Yawning, Sam stretched as much as he was able with his arm strapped to his torso, and picked his way sleepily towards the remains of the motel block, looking for a suitable place for early morning necessary ablutions. He was so busy watching where he put his feet that he didn't see the big horse standing quietly in front of him.

He walked straight into the animal and bounced, landing flat on his backside in the dirt, letting out a yelp as he jarred his shoulder. Looking up, he realised that the horse wasn't alone.

The animal was a big, stocky buckskin, and on its back was a tall, equally stocky man with a plait of greying black hair reaching down his back. Black eyes studied Sam carefully from beneath the brim of a well-worn Stetson.

The stranger was also pointing a rifle straight at Sam's chest.

"Um …" said Sam.

The black eyes bored straight into his soul, and the stranger's voice when it came was deep, measured and deadly.

"Just who are you, _mister_ , and where the hell is Connie Dawson?"

Sam gulped.

TBC


	16. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Sixteen

**NOTES –**

**Jicarilla Apache terms.**

**_Shiitsooyee(_** **1)** **–** **Grandfather  
** ** _Shichoo (_** **2)** **– Grandmother (can be an honorary title)**  
There is also a James Stewart trivia reference in this chapter if you care to look for it.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"I _said_ , where the _hell_ is Connie Dawson? Is she alive?"

Sam nodded, licking his lips and trying not to look terrified.

"Y-Yeah, she's alive. She … uh … she's trapped though. We're tryin' to get her out."

The rifle barrel didn't waver. The stranger's eyes narrowed, and he nudged the horse forward a step or two so that it towered over Sam, who was staying as still as he could. The strain on his shoulder was agonizing.

"Trapped? Where?" For the first time the rider's voice showed emotion.

Sam carefully turned his head towards the crater that had been Connie's store and gestured with his chin.

"Over there. When the 'quake hit she an' a friend of ours were in the store an' it collapsed into her old cellar. They're about twenty feet down. She's okay, but our friend is hurt real bad. We need to get them out sooner rather than later, and we haven't seen a soul. Can't call out, no phones, no nothin', and we can't go anywhere. So we've been stuck." Sam sat up slowly. "You're the first person we've seen. Can you help us?"

The drummer hoped that his words and non-aggressive posture would help calm the situation.

The stranger sat still for a moment or two, and then lifted his rifle and rested it on his thigh, barrel pointing skyward.

"Show me," he said.

Sam struggled to his feet, all thoughts of ablutions gone. He edged around the horse and headed towards the entrance to the shaft. He just hoped this dangerous-looking individual didn't get antsy when he met The Jon.

As he slowly walked towards the entrance to the shaft where The Jon most probably was still powered-down under his comforter, he could feel the steady thud of the big gelding's hooves as the rider followed behind him.

"How many of you are there?" The deep voice was suspicious.

"Six," Sam answered. "We're all pretty beat up, apart from Jon. We were staying at the motel when the 'quake came. We've got everything from a gashed hand and a badly-broken leg to … well, our friend in the hole with Connie … he has a steel rod in his chest."

"He dyin'? Sounds like he's dyin.' Wonder he ain't bled to death."

Sam glanced around, seeing curious eyes gazing back at him from beneath the Stetson.

"Nope. Not yet. Connie's doin' her damndest to keep him alive." And Sam hoped against hope that Rabbit _was_ still alive.

Surprisingly he heard an amused snort behind him.

"Yep. Sounds like Connie." The voice became serious again. "She's not hurt?"

Sam shook his head. "Cuts and bruises, and I think her ankle's twisted, but otherwise she's okay. So far."

"She'd better be." The voice hardened.

"Jon … he's been watching over Connie and Rabbit through the night … I'm gonna call out to him, okay? I don't want him frightened," Sam said carefully.

"Rabbit? Is he some kinda weirdo?"

"He's my _friend_ ," muttered Sam. "Jon!" he called out as he approached the shaft entrance.

Tucked in beside the dark hole and wrapped cosily in a comforter, The Jon stirred and blue optics clicked open. He clutched his injured hand to his chest for a moment. Michael had repaired what he could and taped it up, but his neural circuits still sent out messages of 'pain.' But he didn't mind. Today they were going to try and get Rabbit and Connie out of that terrible place, and then everything would be alright.

Turning his optics to the sound of his friend's voice, he suddenly sat up, startled.

Sam Luke was walking towards him in the early morning sunshine, and he was being followed by a _horse_! A real, live, breathing, dark gold _horse_!

The fact that the horse had a rider was completely incidental, and The Jon was utterly enchanted. Scrambling out from beneath the comforter he put on his hat and made himself presentable. It wasn't every day a horse paid him a visit!

As Sam drew closer he heard the rider behind him grunt in surprise. The Jon ran forward and gave Sam a hug, and the drummer turned around to the rider, who brought the buckskin to a halt and gazed, perplexed, at the golden automaton.

Sam sighed, not even bothering to explain. "Yeah. I know. He's a robot. Woop-de-do."

The rider pushed his Stetson back, slid his rifle into its leather scabbard on the heavy saddle and studied The Jon.

"Huh," he said.

"Hi!" said The Jon, finally noticing the stranger. But his attention immediately turned to the horse, his undamaged hand reaching out to stroke the yellow-gold neck. The big gelding turned its head and looked at this strange little being, and lipped gently at The Jon's grubby sleeve.

"Hello, Mister Horse!" said The Jon.

The horse said nothing, but rubbed its head sideways on The Jon's chest, making the automaton giggle with delight.

"Huh!" said its rider again. He swung down from the saddle and glanced at Sam. "Damn' beast must like your robot. He ain't an easy horse to deal with usually. Tends to bite."

Sam, now a little miffed at being bullied, especially at this hour of the morning, said "He isn't _my_ robot. As I said before, he's my _friend_. He's _family_." He scowled at the stranger and turned to The Jon, now giving the animal scratchies behind beautiful black-rimmed ears.

"Connie and Rabbit … how are things?"

The Jon frowned even as he fussed over the horse.

"Connie's not too bad, but Rabbit … he's real quiet. Doesn't say much." The Jon blinked noisily, optics clicking rapidly. "I think he … he's kinda _fading_ , Sam. Connie can't get him to power down."

"Dammit," Sam growled. He decided he'd had enough of this nonsense. He turned to the stranger. "Listen, _mister_ – I don't know who you are an' I don't much care, to be honest, and unless you can help us out, then I'm too damn' tired an' too damn' sore to give a hoot. I'm guessing you're a friend of Connie's by the way you speak about her, an' that's fine." Sam was now on an antsy roll, "but unless you're either going to help us dig our family outta there or get some help, then I don't have time to be scared of you. Either shoot me or help me. It's your call."

"That goes for me too," said a weary voice. Sam turned in surprise to see Michael standing a few feet away, his arm as always pressed to his side. He looked … lopsided. The mechanic was hunched, trying to protect his broken ribs, but his jaw was set and his blue eyes had darkened with anger. "I got two badly hurt people over there" – he gestured behind him at the makeshift shelter some distance away – "and one of them just about killed himself yesterday trying to get rid of all of this … this … crap that's stopping us helping Rabbit and Connie. He did it all by hand, mister – every single, damned big bit of concrete he shifted himself. And yes, before you ask, he's a robot too. He's bleeding, and I can't stop it. I don't have the equipment. I …" Michael's voice finally broke.

The stranger looked from Sam to The Jon, and then to Michael, his dark eyes unfathomable, his mouth grim. And then, in one moment, the tension eased. He took off his Stetson and wiped his brow with his sleeve. The black eyes looked out of a high-cheekboned, tanned face and a wide, mobile mouth. He put his hat back on and stuck out a hand to Sam.

"The name's Joe Redaya. We're up here touchin' base with the desert. I been doing this every year since I don't know when, and I've known Connie for thirty years'n more." For the first time, his face carried the hint of a smile. "She's a good friend … and quite a lady."

Sam cautiously shook Redaya's hand left-handedly then gestured towards the hole. He was still simmering, but he decided they didn't have time or the energy for grudges.

"I don't know if she's awake yet, an' I really don't want to disturb her if she's sleeping. She's exhausted, and she's tending to Rabbit as well."

"I … I'm awake, Sam." Connie's voice was sleep-ridden and weary. Sam heard her yawn. "Rabbit's had a restless night, though. I wish he'd just damn' well _power down_ – "

"Connie?" Joe Redaya dropped the reins of his big horse and hurried forward, falling to his knees beside the shaft entrance.

"Joe? Joe, is that you? Oh my lord, it's good to hear your voice! Ya gotta help 'em, Joe! I got a hurt boy down here – he's hurt real bad, an' I … I … " She couldn't continue.

"Hold on there, girl … calm down. Don't worry – I'll do what I can. If these people mean so much to you, then they must be good folks. I got Walt with me an' I'll get him to bring our equipment and camping gear. That's all we got – my pickup an' trailer got swallowed during the 'quake – but I have a stove an' some extra food an' water, so we should be okay until help gets here."

"We haven't seen a soul, Mister Redaya," Michael rasped. "Not even a helicopter. Nothing. It's as though Connie and her place don't exist."

Joe turned his head, nodding. "Yeah, I know. The 'quake hit the neighbouring towns hard, an' also managed to eat the only rescue chopper in the area – the whole helipad just … disappeared, along with the chopper. They're sending two out from L.A., but it'll be tonight before they get here. I can get Walt to head on up to one of these bluffs and 'phone out for help. We can maybe get a couple of heavy-duty pickups out here and some extra hands." He took a deep breath and continued. "This was a bad one. No-one knew it was comin'. Seven point eight, I'm told. So I thought I'd head out to some of the more remote homesteads to see if folks were okay, seein' as I was already out here. Horses can go places vehicles can't, an' they seem to know when 'quakes are on their way."

Sam nodded. "Thanks. Who's Walt?"

Joe grinned.

"My grandson. I try an' take him off the rez once a year to kick his butt into gear. He's fourteen – the idiot stage. Right now he thinks he's bein' radical. Thinks he's somethin' straight out of _Dances With Wolves_. All long windswept hair an' posin' on a horse. Like I said … an idiot. But he's a good kid."

He stood up, turned, and lifting his hat, waved into the distance twice.

Within minutes a figure on horseback loped towards them … a tall, stockily-built teenage boy on a paint horse. Blue-black hair shimmered down his back and his eyes were fierce, like a hawk's. They widened a little when he saw The Jon, but that was his only reaction to seeing a robot in the middle of an earthquake disaster in the desert.

"Saw you wave, _Shiitsooyee(_ 1). Who are these men?" His voice bore the arrogance of youth.

"These men, _junior_ , are people needin' our help." Joe raised an eyebrow at his grandson. "Get up onto one of those bluffs, boy, and call the sheriff's office at Takoya. Derry Grandee is co-ordinatin' everything, an' tell him Connie's trapped an' we got a whole heap of hurt folks out here. We need help – people and as much heavy liftin' tackle as they can load onto a couple of pickups. Tell 'em to come by Chama Pass if they can. If we get another aftershock it'll be safer. When you've done that, go get the mule and bring our stuff down here."

The boy's face changed from haughty disdain to alarm.

"She's trapped?" He slid from his horse and crouched down beside his grandfather. " _Shichoo(_ 2)! Connie! Are you okay?"

Connie's voice was warm. "Hey, Walter! I'm alright, but you gotta do what your grandpappy says. I got hurt people here, son!"

The boy nodded, and without a word, ran to his horse, remounted and touching heels to the paint's side, loped off back into the hills.

Joe cocked an eyebrow at Sam. "Like I told ya – the boy's okay. But right now … he's an idiot. Oh well. I guess he'll grow out of it. I did." He gave a flashing grin, full of white teeth. "You know _my_ name, son, but we ain't been formally introduced yet."

Sam straightened as well as he could, his shoulder on fire.

"Sam Luke. This is my friend Michael Reed. You've already met The Jon, and down the hole with Connie is Rabbit, Jon's brother. His other brother, The Spine, is back at our shelter with Steve Negrete. Both of 'em are seriously hurt."

Joe surveyed the shaft entrance and the group of people – and, he decided, The Jon was definitely 'people,' no matter that he wasn't human – and was impressed. In less than twenty-four hours, they had done more than most could do with specialist equipment, and they'd done it hampered by injuries. He made a decision.

"Connie?"

"Yeah, Joe?"

"How's that boy … that Rabbit … how's he doin'?"

Connie was silent for a moment.

"He, ah, he's gettin' weaker. He won't rest. He keeps tellin' me he'll power down when he an' I get outta here an' everyone's taken care of. Reminds me of you, Joe. He's as stubborn as all get out. Jon found a couple of hacksaws yesterday an' Steve's tryin' to fix 'em so I can cut this damn' rod. Did Sam explain …"

"Yeah, he told me. We'll go see how things are, Connie, an' we'll be right back. You need anythin'? Walt's gone for the supplies an' we can get some hot food for ya in a little while. Would that help?"

"God, yes! But don't worry – my boys are takin' real good care of us, an' we'll do fine. All I need now is a way to cut my Rabbit free."

Joe's eyebrows hit his hairline and he turned to Sam and Michael.

" _Her_ boys? _Her_ Rabbit? Jeez – she sure must have taken a shine to you. She can be real picky who she likes."

Michael smiled.

"Mister Redaya, I don't have to tell _you_ how special Connie is. We've known her less than two days, an' as far as we're concerned, she's as much family as the rest of us."

"The name's Joe. Mister Redaya was my pops. You're Michael, right?"

Michael nodded wearily.

"Let's go see how your friends are an' have a look at those hacksaws," Joe continued. He turned to The Jon. "Seein' as that dumb animal likes you, would you care to bring him along?"

The Jon was so thrilled he jiggled, hat bobbling. Taking the buckskin's reins he hugged the big horse around the neck. The animal stood, gazing benignly at the brassold automaton. Sam could have sworn the beast was smiling.

"C'mon, Pie! Let's go!" said The Jon, and without even having to put pressure on the reins, the horse turned and followed The Jon like a dog, his velvet muzzle inches from the little 'bot's shoulder.

Joe stopped suddenly.

"Wait a minute - how did he know my horse's name? I never mentioned it."

"Oh, that's easy," Sam said. "The horse told him."

Joe stared at the drummer.

"You're joking, right?"

Sam gazed back, absolutely serious.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"An' he doesn't like bein' called dumb!" called out The Jon. "He says you don't even know that he's ticklish when ya put his saddle on!"

"Well, I'll be – " Joe was astonished. "That damn' critter kicks up a hooey every time I saddle him up!"

The Jon turned around, walking backwards as Pie ambled beside him. He nodded knowingly.

"Ticklish," he repeated sagely.

"Huh," said Joe Redaya. He decided he'd be saying that a whole lot more in the next few hours.

* * *

It took two hours for young Walt Redaya to find a bluff where he could get a signal and to use his cell phone to call in a request for emergency aid. Then he returned to the camp his grandfather had set up, packed everything away on their big mule and headed back to Connie's.

In the meantime, Joe sat down with his new friends and listened as Sam, Michael and Steve went through how they had met Connie and what had happened during and after the earthquake and the subsequent aftershock. Joe hunkered down Indian-style, his backside resting on one heel, and he rested his elbow on the raised knee of his other leg. The Jon settled beside him, mimicking Joe's stance. Pie stood behind The Jon, his bottom lip resting on the top of The Jon's hat, and went to sleep.

The more Joe heard, the more impressed he became. This odd bunch of characters were resourceful, there was no denying it. The young man with the badly-broken leg and multi-coloured dreadlocks had done one helluva job of tweaking hardened-steel teeth back into place. The result wasn't perfect, but it might just work if Connie was careful.

Joe studied the long-framed silver robot lying unconscious beside Steve. Well, at least he supposed the robot was unconscious. Or sleeping. Or whatever robots did when they were damaged. This was, he guessed, Rabbit and The Jon's brother … now, what did they call him … ah, yes – The _Spine_. This was the one who had just about killed himself trying to widen the entrance to the shaft. He noticed the dents and scuffs on long metal fingers and the thick wadding taped to the automaton's side.

Joe Redaya came to the conclusion that Connie was right – her 'boys' were tough, independent thinkers and they didn't give up. Everything they had done was not just because one of their own was in need, but also for Connie, whom they had decided was part of their peculiar little family.

"Okay – sounds like you got a plan. I don't know what Walt and Derry will rustle up by way of help, but they won't be here for quite a while. Takoya's a good forty-five minutes away by road, and there _ain't_ no road. Comin' overland will take two … maybe three hours, more if they're fully loaded. Midday at the earliest, mid-afternoon is more like it. Provided we get no more aftershocks. Derry's good people – an' he's a second cousin of mine." Joe gave a small smile. "He'll send what he can. The local folks owe Connie a lot. She's helped deliver quite a few babies over the years out here, an' saved a life or two in her time. She used to be the community nurse in Takoya before she retired. Your Rabbit couldn't be in better hands."

Michael was leaning back against a stack of luggage, obviously sore, but feeling like there was – at _last_ – a light at the end of a very dark and dreadful tunnel.

Sam eased himself to his feet.

"I'm gonna take Connie some sandwiches for breakfast and send that hacksaw down to her. She's fretting, Joe … and we have to find a way to get that damned bit of junk outta the way in the shaft. If we can clear that and widen the entrance just a little bit more, then we got a chance to get both Connie an' Rabbit out of there." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "But I have no idea how we're gonna do it. The Spine … he can't do any more. We can't expect him to. He's all in."

"He's still leaking oil, guys," Michael added. His blue eyes full of hurt. "It shouldn't kill him, but if it means Rabbit doesn't make it because he couldn't help … "

"We'll think of something," Steve muttered. "Tell Connie to go easy with the hacksaw. It's a big feller, but those fixed teeth are brittle. She can afford to lose two or three, but no more than that. Tell her to keep the sawing even and not to put too much pressure on it. I managed to sharpen the teeth a little, but they're far from perfect. Usually you just replace the blade, an' they're not meant to be sharpened." He took a deep breath. "And … I'm kinda worried how Rabbit's gonna deal with this, especially if he won't power down."

Joe looked at the three young men and the robot beside him. The Jon scrabbled away oily tears and Joe realised the automaton was deathly afraid he was going to lose this Rabbit. His _brother_.

"You, ah, you robots … I'm just tryin' to understand here … can you … can you feel pain? I mean, literally?"

The Jon seemed unable to answer.

"Yeah, they feel pain," Michael replied bitterly. "Not the same way we do, but it amounts to the same thing. They have neural circuits and electrical impulses that react to injury just like our nerves. That bar through Rabbit's chassis has caused massive damage to sensors and circuits, and he'll be feeling that 'pain' every second of every hour. He can't switch it off. The man who made 'em thought that it would make them more empathic … if they felt pain they would understand physical pain in others. So … yeah … they feel pain. And Rabbit's in agony. And I _can't help him_. And sawing through that rod is going to cause him even more pain, and because he won't power down he's going to feel _every … single … damned … stroke_."

Joe Redaya's eyes widened in dismay. "Jeez …"

"The only difference is that they're built to withstand it." Michael was on a roll, trying, _needing_ to make Joe Redaya understand. "Unless the damage physically disables them … a leg blown off or something … they'll just keep going. They can take a helluva lot of punishment. Because, y'see, they're robots, and their lives aren't worth anything like as much as a human's. That's why they've fought in more wars than anyone else alive. After the last one, they came home in pieces."

"Last war?" Joe asked, "What –"

"Vietnam," Steve said quietly.

Joe looked from sombre face to sombre face, ending up with The Jon. The little golden robot shook his head and then blinked at Joe. Pie woke up and pricked his ears, then nuzzled at The Jon's shoulder.

"I … I don't know why they sent us. We asked and we asked, but they wouldn't tell us. We … we … got captured. The people who captured us, they … they … wanted to know how we were built. We were … _hurt_ … 'specially Spine. He'd had lots an' lots of upgrades in the fifties an' they thought they could figure out how they worked. We didn't go home for … for … a _long_ time."

"Godalmighty," said Joe, shocked.

"Add that to fighting in two world wars an' a particularly nasty weekend in Africa, and it's a wonder they've stayed sane." Steve added. "But they've survived. Not only that, they're the most decent, kind and funny _people_ I've ever known. Rabbit took a beating three days ago to protect The Jon – he wouldn't fight back. He just stood there an' took it. Because if they were beating on _him_ , then The Jon was safe until we got there to help out. We're all family, Joe – an' we wouldn't have it any other way."

"Okay," said Sam, made uncomfortable in the ensuing shocked silence. He lifted the small pack of sandwiches and the hacksaw. "I'm gonna sit with Connie an' Rabbit while you guys do some thinkin' about how we're going to do this without Spine. I … I don't want them to deal with _any_ of this on their own. They'll want to know how The Spine is anyway."

Joe Redaya took a deep, calming breath and tried to focus on what they had to do. He needed to have a good look at the shaft and see how far The Spine had got, and how they could proceed. Because, _dammit_ , he was going to help Connie and her boys if it killed him.

Beside The Jon, The Spine stirred in his sleep, and The Jon dropped a hand onto his brother's chest.

"Shhh … it's okay. Everything's fine."

The Spine winced in 'pain', but settled back into blessed oblivion.

Joe watched the resting automaton for a moment or two, and marvelled at the tenacity of this little band of brothers, human and robot. "Okay boys – let's get to work. Show me what you've done so far, an' we'll figure it out."

The Jon, his hand still resting on The Spine's chest, perked up, his other hand raised to stroke Pie's muzzle.

"Pie says he's big an' strong, and he'll help too."

Joe looked at The Jon, and then at the sturdy buckskin gelding. He shook his head, disbelieving. This was _crazy_.

"Well, Jon, you tell Pie that anything he can do to help would be very welcome," he said with an 'I don't believe I'm _doing_ this!' tone to his deep voice.

The Jon grinned.

"See, Pie! I told you Joe would say yes!"

Pie snorted.

* * *

When Connie finally held the hacksaw in her hands, she burst into tears. She clutched the heavy tool so tightly her knuckles showed white, and she wept so hard that Rabbit, woozy and in 'pain,' raised his head and reached for her, his photo-receptors blinking and clicking in alarm.

"Miz … Miz Connie … a-a-are ya okay? Can't … can't have … ya all sad'n stuff."

"Oh. Oh, Rabbit honey!" she sniffed noisily. "I'm so scared! I don't want to hurt ya, boy, but … but …"

Rabbit couldn't hold his head up any longer and let it drop back onto Michael's revoltingly purple cushion, but his long metal fingers managed to reach out and grasp one of Connie's hands as she held onto the hacksaw as though it was a lifeline. Which, of course, it was.

He wearily rearranged his face plates into the best semblance of a cheery grin that he could manage. That just made Connie weep even more.

"O-Oh, now … there … there ain't uh … a-a-in't nuthin' ta be … ta be scared of," he said, his breathing shallow and stressed. It was obvious that it was now taking nearly all of what energy he had left just to speak. "You just …" he coughed painfully "… you just take your time. I ain't … ain't … a-ain't goin' nowhere."

Rabbit gently pulled Connie closer, and took the hacksaw from her hands. Setting it on the ground, he placed her hand on the rod protruding from his chest.

Connie dabbled tears from her eyes with her other hand and looked at Rabbit and then at the steel rod. Rabbit's grin softened into a smile.

"Here … y-ya cut here." He moved her hand to within three inches of his chest. "Take … t-take it slow … I-I-I'll be fine."

Connie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. She had to do this. She just _had_ to.

Bending down, she gave Rabbit a gentle kiss on his brow.

"Okay, sweetheart. I guess we have no other choice. But for the last time, I'm beggin' you … power down, son. I promise you'll wake up. We'll all be here when ya do, an' you'll be safe an' you won't hurt any more an' – "

Rabbit's photo-receptors closed wearily, but his smile didn't waver.

"Nah. When … when e-everybody's safe … sleep then … "

Connie didn't answer. She just laid her hand on Rabbit's head for a moment, reassuring him, and then she lifted the hacksaw. Hefting it in her right hand, she braced the metal rod with her left. Setting the blade against the metal, she made sure she had the saw as straight and as balanced as she could. She was ready. Glancing at Rabbit, she saw him lying still, optics closed, the gentle smile still evident. He trusted her, and he was ready for what would come next.

Gritting her teeth, she began to saw.

* * *

Michael, Sam and Joe investigated the entrance to the shaft, trying to figure out a way to remove the large block jammed against the enormous concrete fragment that jutted out into the narrow body of the shaft. Joe lay flat on his belly and felt around the edges, much as The Spine had done the evening before.

He glanced backwards at Sam.

"If we can get under the edge here and find a way to lever it loose, I think I can get a rope around it and maybe if we're careful, we can get the horse to pull it out. When Walt gets back, I'll have my lariat – I don't know if it'll work, but we can try. My only worry is that we might cause a cave-in. Although …" Joe turned back to the shaft entrance and talked it through, "I think there's more chance of that when we shift the big one beneath it as it's part of the wall of the shaft, but I don't think we have much choice."

Michael was sitting on a block beside Joe, and peering for the first time down the shaft. He could faintly hear the rasp of metal on metal as Connie slowly worked away with the hacksaw. He could also hear Connie sobbing gently to herself. There wasn't a sound from Rabbit. He didn't know whether to be relieved or afraid. He swallowed noisily.

"Uh, so … if we can move these two blocks, we might be able to get them out?"

Joe shrugged.

"Connie? Yeah, no problem. Rabbit? I dunno. He's tall?"

"About six-one, last time I checked."

"Heavy? All that metal an' stuff?"

"Yeah." Michael ducked his head. "Very."

Joe sat back and pondered.

"This steel bar … you can't take it out until you get him outta there, is that right?"

Sam nodded.

"Connie's cutting it off about three inches from Rabbit's body, front an' back. Once he's out of there, if we can get him someplace where Michael has access to cutting equipment … electrical supplies … stuff like that, he can remove it safely. But to do it here? Too dangerous."

Joe let the information trickle through his mind.

"Okay. We got no choice. We might be able to get him out if we can shift these blocks, but then again … " He blew out a sigh. "We won't know until we try. The combination of his weight an' that damn' rod stickin' out might just take out the sides of the shaft as we bring him up. I really don't know. But we'll just have to take a chance. Michael …"

Michael looked up. His face was pale with strain.

"Yeah?"

"I have to ask … if the shaft caves in, can Rabbit survive it?"

Michael shook his head.

"The Walter automatons are tough, Joe, and without damage and with regular upgrades, they'll live a long, long time. But Rabbit's the oldest, the most fragile and he doesn't like upgrades. Plus all of the damage he's taken over the years. I … I don't think he'd make it."

"We gotta do it," a small voice said.

Michael looked over at The Jon, sitting a few yards away with Pie standing over him.

"I … I'm not strong enough. I'm sorry." The Jon's face-plates shifted into hopelessness. "I'm _just not strong enough_ …"

Michael struggled to his feet and walked over to the grieving automaton. He crouched down, his movements stiff and obviously painful, and gave The Jon a one-armed hug.

"Jon, you've done some amazing things this past couple of days. You've got a hurt hand, and you've also taken such care of The Spine an' Rabbit an' Connie. Now you have Pie, and the pair of you're going to be really important in a little while when we come to move these blocks. Think you can do that?"

The Jon thought about it. Pie dropped his nose into the little automaton's hand, as if to reassure him. The Jon leaned his head against Pie's jaw, and rubbed the space between the horse's ears. He nodded.

"Yep. Pie says we can. We're a _team_." He gave Michael a scared-but-brave smile.

Michael had to smile back, dimples quirking at the corner of his mouth.

"You sure are, Jon. You and Pie. We're relying on you."

Joe Redaya stood up and looked up at the deep blue sky above, scudding clouds sending shadows running over the folds and pinnacles of the distance hills. Who would think such a beautiful place could be so deadly?

"You guys ready?"

His answer was the grim but determined expressions of the two men beside him and the golden robot now standing beside his golden horse.

"Okay. Let's do it."

The second aftershock hit exactly thirty-seven seconds later.

TBC


	17. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

The very first cut of the hacksaw on the steel rod drew straight and true, a deep, gleaming score showing in the filthy ridged surface.

Rabbit's optics flew open, widening at the terrible, all-consuming, wrenching 'pain' and he clenched his teeth so hard he thought his jaw would break. But he didn't make a sound. He  _would_   _not_  make a sound.

The return cut vibrated through the rod and deep, deep inside his wounded chest, and every plate in his body thrummed with 'pain' such as he had never felt before. But he had to be as still as possible. To move, to scream, to react in any way would make it even harder for his Connie, who was putting her own life in danger to save his.

Connie knew. She knew deep in her soul that he was in terrible, terrible 'pain', but still she kept cutting … slowly … methodically … evenly. And with every stroke of the big hacksaw she wept, the tears running down her cheeks to her chin and dripping onto the dusty ground, leaving damp runnels of tears that were soon joined by drops of oil and hydraulic fluid. She knew that the more she used the hacksaw the more the rod shifted in Rabbit's chassis, wrecking some of the repairs she had done only hours before, even though the leather belts looped tightly around the rod and Rabbit's torso prevented any major movement.

But she kept going, cutting,  _cutting_ , and the hacksaw stood up to the work. Steve Negrete had done better than he could have ever imagined – the repairs were holding, and she knew that she could have the first section of the rod cut through in minutes.

The closer she came to completing the first of her tasks, the more she had to force herself to take slow, steady strokes. The end was in sight, and she so wanted to finish this … to bring Rabbit closer to freedom and safety and rest and just …  _no pain_.

And each cut brought soft words of desperation. She sweated and swore and her hand was aching grasping the big hacksaw, and her words tumbled over themselves with each second that passed.

" I'm so sorry, son … just a minute or two more …  _pleasegodpleasegodpleasegod_  … just hang on, boy … I'm goin' as fast as I can … god _dammit_  … "

And Rabbit did not move.

He did not speak.

He simply  _endured_.

Until their world fell apart around them.

Connie was only two or three cuts away from severing the rod piercing Rabbit's chest when the ground beneath her fell sideways with a deep, gut-wrenching rumble.

A rippling heave of earth compressed their little space, and Connie screamed in terror. Instinctively she clutched at Rabbit, her right hand still clasped around the big hacksaw, and she caught a glimpse of mismatched optics gazing at her, calm and steady and knowing, and she felt the material of his vest under her touch. Then both of them were dragged upwards.

Connie couldn't hang on. She let go and crashed onto the trembling, roiling earth and with a yell of horror she saw Rabbit hauled bodily against the rubble massed above them. A shaft of light burst into their prison, and Rabbit jerked as the sawn section of the rod twisted and broke. The release of tension wrenched him onto his back as the block of concrete that held the other end of the rod slipped sideways, and for a split second Connie saw him silhouetted against the beauty of the brilliant light, limbs lax and head back, and he looked so graceful and golden and unearthly, and she knew he was dead.

* * *

Joe Redaya fell flat on his backside as the shock travelled outwards, sending an eerily perfect ripple of solid ground outwards, destroying what was left of the motel rooms, and shuddering through the piles of concrete from the remains of the canopy.

Michael staggered, but miraculously managed to keep to his feet, grabbing hold of Sam's jacket as the injured drummer fell to his knees. Sam clutched Michael's arm and hung on, yelling with fear.

The Jon leaped sideways as a rift opened up beneath him, and he yelled at Pie, the big horse rearing as his back legs began to slide into the opening chasm. His haunches bunched and his hooves scrabbled for purchase, and suddenly, miraculously, the gelding managed to get firm footing on crumbling dirt and launched himself forward to The Jon, the slender robot back-pedalling, urging the horse onward, leading him to safety.

Joe scrambled onto his hands and knees just as the centre of the crater where Connie and Rabbit were trapped sank and fell away into a yawning abyss.

* * *

Steve Negrete could do nothing but hang on and hope he didn't die.

He had been dozing quietly, trying to catch up on his sleep after a long, painful night working on the hacksaw. The Spine lay powered down beside him. The automaton had not moved since The Jon had gentled him through a bad dream, and Steve knew it would probably be hours before his friend awoke.

The mattress beneath him suddenly dropped a full foot as the ground sank, slamming him hard as it hit bottom. Steve screamed with pain as his leg shifted, the jarred broken bone sending him arching against the rolled comforter which then proceeded to ride up and over his shoulders, exposing the engineer's back to raw earth and stones which tore right through Steve's jumpsuit and scraped the skin of his lower back into bloody shreds.

All Steve could do was hang on and wait until the aftershock spent itself and the world became sane again – if he survived it.

* * *

The Spine stirred, muttered, and twitched slightly as the aftershock tore the earth around him apart. He snuggled into the dusty pillow under his head, favoured his wounded side for a moment, and then slipped back into stasis.

* * *

Connie cried out in pure, heartbroken agony as Rabbit's body was slammed back onto his side before her.

"NO! OH NO! NOT MY BOY! YOU CAN'T TAKE MY BOY! NOT AGAIN!"

But even as she wept, she felt herself slip sideways, and realised that beside her now lay a black, bottomless void.

There was nothing stopping her. There was no handhold, no jammed piece of rubble to grasp. Just …  _nothing_. For some reason she still held the hacksaw, and even though it was now useless and she hadn't been able to save Rabbit, she hung onto it. If she was going to die, at least she would have something of him with her, absurd though the idea might be. She scrabbled with her left hand for purchase, but found nought but empty space. She was going to fall, and in her heart, she realised she didn't want to live. Her beautiful, funny Dan was gone, and now this ancient, quirky clockwork boy who had, with the rest of his family, made her live again, was dead. Then and there, it became so easy. She smiled, closed her eyes … and let go.

And didn't move.

Something cool, smooth and metallic wrapped around her wrist and hand, and before she could even begin to catch her breath, she was slowly pulled upwards and forwards, back onto what was now a narrow ledge where there had once been a small, secure space.

Flinging the hacksaw to the back of the ledge for safety, Connie used her other hand for balance as she crawled onto the flat surface of the ledge and shifted onto her hip. The grip around her wrist loosened and fell away, and she turned to look into the gaze of a pair of odd-coloured optics that flickered dimly in the gloom. Rabbit's free arm hung over the edge of the precipice, his strong hand still half-clenched from where it had caught Connie as she fell.

The ground stilled, dust floated down into a dappled shadow-world, the gaping ravine beside the ledge plunging into unknown depths.

But Connie didn't notice.

Within moments she had Rabbit's head cradled in her arms as she sobbed uncontrollably, one hand resting on his hurt chest, the other soothing him as he coughed, the tiny trickle of steam from his cheek vents echoing the small stream of oil and hydraulic fluid from his mouth.

"Son …" she choked, "I … I thought I'd lost ya … thought you were …" She couldn't continue.

His gaze never wavered from her face. When he spoke, his voice was no more than a glitchy, oil-filmed whisper.

"Gotta … gotta t-t-take care o' ya, M-M-Miz Connie. Serg …" Rabbit's voice faded, but he rallied, "Sergeant Dan …"

Connie sniffled. "Dan? What about Dan?" She began to gently wipe the filth and grime from his face plates.

"He wouldn't like … like it i-i-if ya didn't make … didn't make it. I can't go … 'til … 'til you're safe …" Rabbit closed his optics and opened them again, so slowly that Connie's heart leaped in her chest. "When you … you're safe … take, uh, t-take … care of … Spine an' Jon … an' others for me?"

Well, in that moment, Miss Connie Dawson became incredibly mad. Her eyes turned the deepest storm-swept grey, and Rabbit lay, hurting and exhausted and almost dead in her arms, and loved her anyway.

"Why, you … you … " she was so angry she was almost incoherent. "Rabbit Walter, don't you ever –  _ever_ \- talk like that again! Just  _who the hell_  do you think you are, sayin' you ain't gonna make it! After all I've done tryin' to keep your sorry metal butt alive, an' you think you're gonna  _just give up_? Now, you just listen to me,  _sonny_  – I'm gonna clean you up, get these leaks stopped and then … an' then … I'm gonna cut this goddamn rod stickin' outta your goddamn back, an' then we're gonna get outta this goddamn place. An' when we do I'm gonna … gonna … well, I ain't figured out yet what I  _am_  gonna do, but you better watch your behind, boy, because metal or not, I'm gonna kick it all the way from here to Yuma an' back before breakfast, do ya hear me?"

Connie was breathing hard, her anger fuelled by profound relief that her Rabbit wasn't a lifeless pile of metal cogs and plates.

Rabbit was mesmerised. His optics blinked twice, and then he gave her the faintest of nods.

"Yes'm," he said.

Connie calmed her breathing, returned his nod, and wiped tears from her eyes.

"Good," she said shakily.

Then she gave him the lightest, gentlest hug she could manage so as not to hurt him and to tell him he was loved.

She quickly assessed what had changed in their surroundings, and apart from the huge darkness now gaping beside them, a shaft of light shone down over them from the other side of the chasm. There was no way they could reach it – the gap in the rubble above them was over twenty feet away at the thinnest part of the crater and at the most unstable point. Any person, human or robot, walking on the section would plunge straight through it into the rift and never be seen again.

But Connie and Rabbit had more light and room height-wise, even though they were now lying on a narrow ledge. Connie carefully eased herself along the ledge to the shaft, which was still intact and had barely shifted. A few medium-sized pieces of concrete at the top had fallen away, giving a larger access space, but the jutting block was still  _in situ_  and would have to be shifted before either of them could get out.

If there was anyone left alive to help them.

"Joe?" she called.

Silence.

"Joe? Sam? Anyone?" Connie's voice was strained.

"CONNIE!" Joe Redaya's voice suddenly boomed down the shaft, echoing through the air and into the abyss. "Connie, are you in one piece?"

"I could be better, but I'm all right. Rabbit … I cut through the rod at his chest. I'm gonna check him over … we had a bit of a rough time down here an' we got one helluva big hole opened up beside us. Joe … my boys … tell me all my boys are okay!"

"Sam an' Michael are here, an' Jon's takin' care of Pie. Damn horse  _talks_  to him, Connie! But we gotta go check on Steve an' that other robot. I'll be right back!" Joe sounded relieved but Connie could hear the fear in his voice.

"Thank god! You just go do what you need ta do, Joe. We got plenty to keep us occupied."

"Be back soon. Keep your chin up, gal."

Connie heard him move away from the shaft entrance and everything became quiet. Carefully shuffling back to Rabbit, she once again began the task of checking the internal damage to his oil-lines and hydraulics. With the electrical tape now somewhere at the bottom of the chasm beside them, along with their water supply, food and most of their supplies, she was once more reduced to tying off severed lines and hoping for the best.

She noted with relief that the two belts had anchored Rabbit so well that even with his chassis being battered during the aftershock, they had held and prevented any more serious damage, other than the holes through his copper plating being now a little larger. Connie was secretly thankful for this. When Michael came to remove the rod it would hopefully be less traumatic for the automaton.

After the emergency repairs were completed, Connie tried her best to make him a little more comfortable, and wished she had some water for his almost-dry boiler. She would have to ask Joe or one of her boys if they could spare a bottle. The comforter was still lying on the ledge behind Rabbit, so at least if they had to spend another night below ground they would be warm enough. Connie knew that the huge space beside them would mean an extra draughty chill to battle against in the darkness.

Then she sat with Rabbit for ten minutes or so, his head on her lap, and they were calm and quiet, allowing him a little respite before she began the job of cutting through the other section of the rod jutting from his back, just below his left shoulder.

Finally, Connie couldn't put it off any longer.

"Sweetie, I gotta do this. You know that, don'tcha?"

Rabbit shifted slightly and winced.

"Uh-huh. S'okay. I … I'll uh, I-I-I'll be fine, Miz Connie."

She eased herself in front of him, dragged over the corner of the comforter and laid his head oh-so-gently on the downy warmth. She lifted the hacksaw.

Rabbit looked away.

Connie knelt over his chassis, grasped the steel rod exiting his back, and began to saw.

* * *

"Goddammit all to  _hell_!" Joe Redaya was frustrated, scared and damned angry. He sat back at the entrance to the shaft and leaned against a block of rubble, and dashed his hat to the ground. "Just when I thought we had a plan! Now the whole structure's even more unstable than before." He shook his head in despair. "The whole thing might just fall in even if we only touch these blocks."

"Joe?"

He looked up to see Michael standing above him, hand extended to help him up.

"Yeah?"

"We're worried about Steve and Spine, so let's go see if they're okay an' think about this in a bit. I know you're worried about Connie. I understand. We're worried about them both." The tall young man with the wise blue eyes smiled sadly. "C'mon, m'friend."

Joe sat for a moment and then nodded, and waving Michael's hand away he scrambled to his feet.

"You're right." Joe took a very shaky breath and picked up his hat, settling it back on his head. "Let's go make sure everyone's in one piece."

Sam and The Jon had already headed over to their makeshift shelter, Pie trotting behind The Jon, never far away from his new robotic friend.

But before Joe and Michael could take a step, they heard the sound of hoof beats. Turning, they saw young Walter Redaya riding towards them as fast as his paint mare could go, leading a big bay mule laden with gear.

" _Gramps_! Gramps, are you okay?" the boy yelled, bringing the mare to a rump-sliding halt and hitting the ground before the animal had stopped moving. He ran into his grandfather's arms, and Joe hugged the youngster hard, keeping him close and murmuring that he was unhurt. After a few moments he let Walt go and grasped him by the shoulders, looking hard into the lad's face.

"Son, I'm fine. And I can see you're okay too, so we got things to do. Can you set up camp and get the stove going? We could all do with some hot food, especially Connie. An' break out our first aid kit and water bottles. Oh, an' where's Blue?"

Walt looked around, puzzled.

"He's around here someplace. He was with me a couple of minutes ago."

"Huh," said Joe. "Damned animal." He turned his attention back to his grandson. "Go on, boy. Git. Once you've done all that, you can tell us what Derry said about gettin' us some help out here."

Walt nodded, and for the first time gave a white, brilliant smile, his fierce face softening.

"They're comin', Gramps! They're on their way!"

Joe grinned at Michael, whose eyes lit up with hope.

"Good boy," continued Joe. But as Walt walked away, he called out. "Hey! Walt!"

"Yeah?" the boy halted, frowning.

"If you call me 'Gramps' again I'm gonna paddle your butt so hard you won't be able to sit a horse for a month, y'hear me?"

Walt laughed.

"Okay,  _Grandfather_! I hear ya!"

Joe grunted.

"See? Boy's an idiot."

Michael grinned.

* * *

Rabbit was softly singing to himself.

With every cut of the hacksaw he strained away from the 'pain.' At first he had buried his face in the softness of the comforter, muffling the whimpers he couldn't prevent escaping from his dry voice box, but it didn't help much. So, he decided, it might help take his mind off everything if he sang.

It was something he sometimes did if he was very sad, or sick, or in this case, when he or one of his brothers was hurt. He had sung ' _Daisy, Daisy, Give me Your Answer Do_ ' in a filthy, mud-swamped bomb crater deep, deep in the Argonne Forest back in the fall of '18, voice soft and soothing as he comforted The Spine, his brother's side shredded by shrapnel from a six-pounder shell. He dreamed of that terrible November day often, and even now he found the song distressing.

He sang to Pappy once in a while, if he thought no one was near. He loved to sing to Pappy, as he sat beside his grave in the quiet cemetery on a warm summer's evening.

So now he sang of love. At first he had sung it for Jenny, but now he sang for Connie, and the love her Sergeant Dan had given to her so long ago.

" _I … I only saw her once … but … but that …_ ohgod … hurts _… was all … I needed …_ "

Connie listened and marvelled, hearing every cracked, breathless word sung with such tenderness in the midst of the nightmare they shared.

" _And … and now I know … she's what … I've been … been dreamin' of … an' only she … she will do …_ "

Each stroke of the hacksaw brought Rabbit nearer to freedom.

" _I haven't … haven't slept … for days_  …"

Connie wished with all her heart that he  _would_  sleep.

" _Can't focus … focus on anything …"_

It was odd, Connie thought, that Rabbit never stammered when he was singing.

" _She … she's always … on … on my mind …"_

Only a few more cuts and she'd be through the rod and Rabbit would be free …

" _And God it'd .. it'd be so kind…_ unhhh _… if you … you could … let me be –_  "

Three of the hacksaw blade teeth snapped.

Rabbit felt the jolt as the broken surface screeched along the rod, and he cried out, his back arching in agony.

Connie couldn't speak. Shock took her breath away, and she stared in disbelief at the ragged edges along the blade. But Rabbit's cry made her drop the hacksaw and she stammered apologies as she held him until his neural circuits settled down, constant sparks of electrical impulses still sending 'pain' through worn sensors and electronic synapses.

"I'm so,  _so_  sorry, hon. I couldn't have been payin' enough attention – " she whispered.

"Y-Ya did good, Miz Connie," he wheezed, his one working bellows straining. "Don' worry – just… just keep goin.' Ya got, uh, g-got more … more teeth on there. Just … just a few more cuts …"

It turned out to be more than a 'few cuts.' Another thirty minutes passed as Connie struggled to handle a hacksaw now unbalanced and damaged. She had to take shorter strokes using only the remaining toothed section, although Steve's straightening of the blade at least meant that the metal wasn't warping with every draw across the rod.

Rabbit stopped singing. He returned to being his silent self, enduring every moment, the only thing keeping him from screaming to Connie to  _stop, please stop because it hurts so damn much_  was the knowledge that he would soon be closer to getting out of this hellhole.

The final stroke was interminable. Rabbit thought it would never end and  _the pain, oh god, the pain_ , and then he felt a tugging snap and then … and then …

He was free.

* * *

The Spine drifted into consciousness to the smell of hot soup, coffee, and the murmur of voices. He was also acutely aware that he was being watched.

Green photo-receptors slowly blinked open, and he looked straight into a pair of mismatched eyes.

 _Hmmm …_  he thought,  _when did Rabbit get himself a brown photo-receptor_?

The blue eye and the brown eye blinked back and then wrinkled into a doggy grin, tongue hanging –  _waaaait a minute_!

"Nice doggy," he said.

The big dog sat beside him and huffed a soft bark, then lay down and rested a heavy head on The Spine's chest. The odd-coloured eyes watched him with interest.

The Spine was lying flat on his back under a comforter, and for now he was feeling no pain. He decided he could stay like this forever, warm and safe.

Then his optics widened and he tried to sit up.

"Rabbit!"

Moments later he was falling back onto his pillow, gasping at the 'pain' tearing through his side. The dog raised its head, ears pricked, eyebrows beetling with worry.

"Easy there, buddy," said a strange voice. "Your brother's alive. Everyone's alive. So rest up, son."

The Spine squinted at the figure behind the voice.

Joe Redaya put out a gentle hand onto The Spine's shoulder, telling him wordlessly to be at ease.

"The name's Joe. This here's my grandson Walt." The man indicated a youth sitting beside him, stirring a pot of soup on a small camping stove. "An' that's Blue." He gestured at the speckled blue-and-tan dog. "He's an Australian Cattle Dog, but he ain't Australian, an' he's the worst cattle dog I ever seen."

The Spine looked back at the sturdy dog sitting watching him.

"H-hello, Blue," he said hesitantly. The Spine had never had much to do with dogs.

Blue smiled his silly smile and before The Spine could stop him, the dog gave the automaton a slurpy lick from chin to eyebrow. The Spine winced and gently pushed the animal away, but Blue stood up, wagging a stump of a tail.

Joe twitched a smile.

"He's a stumpy-tailed moron, but he's got a soft spot for hurt things. He's just taken a shine to ya is all."

"Never took a shine to any of us," groused Sam. "An' we're hurt, dammit."

The Spine turned his head to see Michael picking bits of gravel out of Steve's lower back with tweezers. The engineer hissed with pain as Michael dug for a particularly elusive fragment.

"Ow!" Steve flinched.

"Stop bein' a baby," muttered Michael, digging deeper.

The Spine tried to figure out why Steve was sitting in a big, square hole.

"Aftershock," said Joe.

"Joe and Walt and Pie and Zooey and Muley and Blue are helping us," said The Jon. The Spine realised his little brother was sitting on his other side, with a great big horse standing behind him, muzzle resting on the top of The Jon's hat. Beside the big horse was a smaller horse, a little bay and white mare. In the distance was a tethered mule. He closed his optics.

"I think we're back at the zoo," he muttered. He was so, so tired. But before he could allow himself to slide back into stasis, he had to make sure …

"Rabbit … Rabbit and Connie … they're okay?"

Joe glanced at Michael before he answered.

"We ain't got 'em out yet, but Rabbit's free. Connie cut that damn' rod, and he's restin' easier. Help's comin.' We got folks on their way with heavy winches an' other equipment, so …" His voice tailed off.

"Good …" The Spine whispered. "That's good. Oh, thank god. Wake … wake me when they get here … tell them … tell them …"

His voice tailed into silence and his optics slid shut.

The Jon pulled the comforter up over The Spine's chest and Blue lay down once more, his head now resting on the silver robot's shoulder.

Joe looked at The Jon, and then at Pie.

"By the way, you tell that great big heap of horse that I gotta bone to pick with him an' his kind," he said dourly.

"Huh?" said The Jon, puzzled.

"I thought horses were supposed to know when earthquakes an' such were comin.' When that aftershock came, he just stood there like an idiot."

Pie's bottom lip drooped in apparent disgust, and his tail flicked.

The Jon frowned and waved his uninjured hand in dismissal.

"Pie wants to know who the heck told you that? How does he know? He isn't psychic!"

Joe opened his mouth to retort, and then realised he was having a conversation with a damned  _horse_. He muttered something unintelligible but undoubtedly rude under his breath. Some things were just too weird to deal with right now. Grumbling to himself, he got up and decided to take Connie some hot soup.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Connie Dawson was sitting on a cushion with her back flat against the side of the ledge and sipping from a big tin mug full of hot, thick soup and munching on a bread roll full of cheese. It was her first hot meal in over twenty-four hours, and she was relishing every mouthful.

Rabbit lay tucked under the comforter, his head on Connie's lap, free at last to move without the crippling agony caused by the fixed tension on the rod through his chest. The 'pain' was still so very bad, but it had lessened and become a little more bearable.

Connie had cradled his head and helped him drink one of the bottles of water Joe had sent down with the soup, and his voice box was no longer dry. For the first time he thought they actually might make it out of this dreadful place.

As Connie finished her food, she heard Rabbit speak softly to himself and felt his shallow intake of breath.

" _On top of the universe … on … on a shootin' star … well, life is so … so wonderful, an' everythin' is by … by far … so spectacular …_ "

Putting down the mug, she put one hand on Rabbit's chest and the other on his bandanna'd head, knowing this comforted him, laid her head back against the ledge wall, and settled down to listen to his song of love.

TBC


	18. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Eighteen

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

The anticipation of help arriving presented everyone with a difficult decision to make.

An impromptu meeting in the makeshift shelter addressed the primary problem - should they wait, or continue trying to move the two huge blocks of concrete barring the way to Rabbit and Connie's freedom. They realistically had no idea when help would arrive, so Joe's first action was to send Walt back up onto the bluff to see if the rescue party was alright after the last tremor.

Walt checked his cell 'phone and shook his head.

"Battery's low, Grandfather. It'll have to be a short call – I have no way of recharging it."

Joe frowned.

"Anyone else got a working 'phone?"

Sam shook his head.

"Lost mine when the big 'quake hit."

Michael sighed.

"Mine's in the same shape as Walt's. The battery's flat."

Steve coughed painfully. His back hurt and his leg was throbbing, and this damned 'flu was making his head fuzzy. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out his cell 'phone. He'd switched it off when he had gone to bed the first night at Connie's, and he hoped the battery still held a decent charge. Switching it on, he grinned.

"The battery's okay – it's down a bit, but it'll work for a while yet. Here …" He handed it to Walt. "Backup."

The boy grinned.

"I'll get going. It'll take me an hour or so to get up there, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

Squashing his baseball cap onto his head, Walt gathered up Zooey's reins and swung into the saddle. The little mare was skittish, eager to get going, but Walt held her back and looked down at his grandfather.

"Be safe, _Shiitsooyee_."

Joe nodded.

"I will, son. Right. _Go_."

Walt touched heels to Zooey's sides, and the paint mare set off at a mile-eating lope, settling down into a rhythm that she could keep up for as long as was needed. She was small, but she was range-bred and as tough as nails.

"Okay," Joe said, rubbing a big hand over his face. "What now? Do we try and shift those blocks or not? I'm kinda scared the whole damn' thing will cave in if we try. I say we wait for the heavy lifting tackle and a few more hands."

There was a moment's silence, broken by a sneeze. Steve wiped his nose.

"We have to think of the dynamics," he rasped, his throat feeling like it was full of razor blades. "I haven't seen the situation. Anyone care to sketch it out so we can figure it out more clearly?"

The Jon straightened, his face-plates sliding into a grin.

"Back in a sec!"

Scrambling to his feet he headed to where Bussie lay on her side and nimbly clambered inside via the smashed window. After a couple of minutes of digging around inside Bussie's wrecked interior, the little 'bot emerged triumphantly with a few sheets of paper and his precious crayons.

The Jon's artistic endeavours had a habit of not turning out the way he had originally intended (pie charts were his favourite), but this time he sat cross-legged on the ground and concentrated as hard as he could, the tip of his tongue sticking out as he focussed on his rather archaic diagram of the shaft. He added in the ledge on which Connie and Rabbit were precariously perched, and finished with two little figures, one wearing a Carmen Miranda-like hat adorned with fruit (Connie) and the other having a head that entirely consisted of one pair of brightly-coloured goggles (Rabbit).

Steve pointed at the top of the shaft.

"How wide, and how far down are these blocks we gotta shift?"

Sam thought for a moment.

"Spine and I got about two feet down and widened the entrance as much as we could." He glanced over at The Spine. The automaton was so still Sam found it slightly un-nerving. Blue lay beside him, head on The Spine's good shoulder, eyes watching the humans as they talked. Sam had never seen The Spine so vulnerable. "Um …" he turned his thoughts back to the problem in hand. "The top block is angled downwards," he clumsily drew in the two blocks with his left hand, "and it's jammed tight against the bottom one. That's the one blocking the shaft. Move the top one and we have a good chance of prying the other one out and opening up the shaft."

Steve squinted at the drawing.

"Uh-huh. Okay … how stable is it? Joe, you said part of the rubble ceiling collapsed into a fissure just beside Connie and Rabbit. Any chance of getting them out that way?"

Joe shook his head.

"Nope. That whole section is unstable. Set foot on it an' you're a gonner. We gotta use the shaft. It's the only way."

"That's not safe either," Michael pointed out. "That last tremor shook the hell out of it. I don't know if we can move anything without the whole damn thing collapsing."

"I know, I know," Joe muttered. "And all we have is a rope. My lariat can put an eight-hundred-pound steer down on the ground without breaking, but a sustained pull? I don't know. I don't even know if Pie could even begin to shift it. He's strong, but …"

Steve blew his nose and thought for a moment.

"But who says we have to lift the thing out of the way? If we can pull it sideways, won't that free up the lower block? And then we just do the same thing with that one? Maybe if we can somehow wiggle both of 'em sideways instead of tryin' to lift 'em? It might not destabilise the shaft if we try that."

His dark eyes studied each of his friends as they turned the idea over in their minds.

Sam shrugged.

"It's worth a try, I guess. I have a problem with all of this heavy-duty gear I gotta say. The whole structure is so damned fragile, but we can take it slowly. The Jon and Pie … they have a connection. Jon can keep Pie straight an' make sure we take it inch by inch. Having lots of people and lots of stuff clanking about, especially when they don't know the situation, makes me nervous. And," he added, smoothing his moustache as he worked through everything in his head, "Connie and Rabbit trust us. If we can move these blocks, then we can use the heavy winches as soon as they arrive to get Rabbit outta there. It would be quicker and as far as I'm concerned, a whole lot safer. Sorry Joe, but I trust _us_ more'n I trust these other folks."

"They're good people, Sam. They'll do what they can, you know that," Joe replied.

Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. We're damned if we do and damned if we don't."

"We have to get them out," said a small voice.

Four pairs of human eyes turned to The Jon. The brassold automaton's face plates slid into a frown, but his blue-on-blue optics shone bright with fear.

"Yeah, Jon, we will, I prom – " Michael said patiently.

" _Michael_ " The Jon insisted, "… _tell them_ … _we_ have to do it. An' we have to do it _now_."

Michael Reed's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean, Jon?"

The Jon screwed his optics up as he tried to explain, but he couldn't articulate what he was feeling.

"We just … just … _gotta_!" was all he could say.

Sam's mouth set with determination.

"Let's go talk to Connie and Rabbit."

* * *

Connie sat at the bottom of the shaft and listened to everything Sam, Joe and Michael had to say about moving the blocks, and then shuffled back along the treacherously narrow ledge to where Rabbit lay.

She sat beside him, hand on his shoulder, and quietly set out the difficulties and risks that faced them. Rabbit closed his optics and listened, trying his best to take in the information Connie was giving him.

" … an' what it all comes down to is … do we wait for help or do the boys try to move those blocks now?" Connie explained, rubbing Rabbit's shoulder absently with her thumb, smoothing the dust-laden material of his shirt and feeling the mechanical joint beneath. His chassis was warm. _Too_ warm. If Rabbit had been human she would be deathly worried that he had a fever. Could robots get fevers? She supposed an overly-hot boiler due to only having one working bellows thermostatically controlling Rabbit's inner workings would put his temperature up. It couldn't be doing his neural circuits much good, she thought.

"Gotta … gotta get out somehow … an' soon," Rabbit murmured. He sounded dazed. "I, uh … I'm s-so _tired_ , Miz Connie …"

"I know, sweetie … oh lord, I know … Joe wants to wait for help, but The Jon says they gotta try _now_. He doesn't know why, but … but it's _Jon_." Connie shrugged her shoulders in confusion.

Rabbit's optics blinked open and focussed blearily on Connie's face, and he gave her a lop-sided wry smile.

"Y'know … Th'Jon … he usually don't know w-what … uh … what day it is … or … or even _where_ he is … s-some of the time … b-b-but when he gets notions … " Rabbit's voice faded as his energy waned.

Connie nodded, her mouth set in a firm line. Rabbit had just backed up her own thoughts on the matter.

"Okay, son. That's what we do. Joe an' the others'll get started on those blocks, an' we'll just keep hangin' on in there, huh."

Rabbit didn't answer for long moments, and Connie began to worry that his systems were threatening to shut down. But his optics did that endearing out-of-sync blink that Connie now recognised as a Thing That Rabbit Did, usually when he was faced with a difficult situation with which he was trying to deal.

"Rabbit? What's wrong?"

The automaton's quirky smile widened into an eerie grin, but there wasn't much humour in it.

"We, uh, w-we gots another problem," Rabbit finally said, waving his good hand weakly in the direction of the shaft. "We g-gotta … gotta get me from _here_ to … uh … to _over there_."

Connie's eyes widened. She looked at the little recess in the wall that afforded them both some small comfort and allowed Rabbit to stretch out on his side and get what little rest he could. But the ledge that led to the shaft bottom then narrowed to a width of about two feet until it reached just past the base of the shaft, where there was another small recess about five feet in diameter. The distance was no more than eight feet, but, as Connie studied their predicament, it could have been eight miles or even eighty considering the practical difficulties it presented. How in hell was Rabbit supposed to traverse even that short distance in his present condition? She cursed under her breath. She had been so concerned with freeing Rabbit that she hadn't even thought about how they would actually get him out once the rod was cut.

Connie Dawson was stumped.

She sat for a moment or two, just staring at the ledge, so panicked that her mind blanked out. Then she shook her head, completely fazed.

"Rabbit, I … I don't know what to do," she said, her voice shaking with shock. "I'm … I'm sorry, boy … I can't … I don't know …"

Rabbit reached up and squeezed her hand as it lay on his shoulder.

"We'll … we'll think of somethin', Miz Connie. 'Cause … 'cause we're – "

Connie swallowed her fear and her mouth quirked with humour.

" … yeah, son … I know. Because we're awesome that way." She blinked back tears. "I ain't much use to ya on this one, sweetheart. I thought we'd somehow … well … kinda tie you onto somethin' an' just winch you outta here. But that was before we had this damn' great hole open up beside us." Connie wiped her hand over her face. "If we try an' pull you out from here, you'll end up sliding off the ledge an' hangin' over nothin' but space after a helluva drop to the end of a chain or somesuch thing." She leaned over and cupped his cheek and Rabbit closed his optics, taking comfort in the gesture. "Oh, hon … you're already so hurt, an … an' … it'd kill ya, an' I ain't about to let that happen. No siree. We gotta find a way to get you along this ledge to the shaft, an' then we just have to haul you straight up an' outta this damn' hole."

Rabbit's mismatched optics flickered open and he shifted painfully.

"Well then," he said, coughing a little and fighting to catch his breath. "I-I guess I, uh, I gotta g-g-get started, Miz Connie."

Connie frowned, confused.

"What? Start what?"

Rabbit gave her his very best 'Rabbit-that-got-the-cream' grin, the one that made The Spine wonder just what the hell Rabbit had been up to and was it dangerous, messy and did it involve trying to figure out how to clean the unidentified (and possibly highly explosive) goop off the ceiling of sitting-room-number-fifteen at Walter Manor.

"Crawlin'," he said.

Connie's jaw dropped.

" _Crawling_?" Her hand went to rest on Rabbit's head, and she gently searched for a dent she might have missed earlier. "Son, I think ya got some scrambled circuits someplace in your fool head! You can barely move, let alone crawl! No. No, you ain't gonna do this, boy! It's too risky. We'll think of somethin' else. You're stayin' put, y'hear me?"

Rabbit let loose a tiny chuckle, followed by a bout of coughing which sent Connie into 'Coddling Rabbit' mode, and never one to pass up being fussed over, he lay still and let her sooth him through the 'pain.'

Once the bout was over, though, he patted Connie's hand and with a supreme effort, managed to lever himself up onto his elbow. His head hung with exhaustion and his one working bellows strained pitifully, his boiler running even hotter. He looked down at the rod piercing his chassis, noticing a new drip of oil from his chest. The 'pain' was bad. So very, very _bad_.

"Miz Connie, I-I'll find it … find it easier … if ya go ahead of me." His voice was a mere whisper.

Connie shook her head, terrified.

"No, son, no, you can't do this –"

"If I-I can see ya … I know …" Rabbit wheezed painfully, "I know … I-I-I can make it …"

"But – "

"Don't worry … I promise … I'll take it easy …" He tic'd a smile.

"Rabbit …" Connie cradled his weary head in her hands and looked him straight in the photo-receptors, "Sweetheart, listen to me. Once you start this, ya can't go back. You're committed. If you pass out, or bust somethin' inside, or … or … just _stop_ , you're stuck. I can't move ya, an' we don't have anythin' to haul you out with until help arrives. The boys ain't got nothin' you can use as a safety rope. An' if ya fall … I can't catch ya like you caught me! Rabbit, honey, I … I can't lose ya. I just … _can't_. Dammit, son, we've been through so much an' … an' … you an' my boys … you're all I really got … an' I'm a selfish, spoiled ol' lady who loves ya." She blinked back more tears.

Rabbit nodded, understanding.

"Yes'm, I know. Sure I do. A-A-An' I loves ya too. But … but we gotta be ready w-when help … uh … help g-gets here. Th'Jon said … "

Connie suddenly realised he was right. Whatever was going on inside The Jon's head, she utterly believed that the little automaton _knew_ , for some reason he couldn't explain, that time was of the essence. And that scared Connie Dawson more than anything else. When her boys managed to move those blocks, she and Rabbit _had_ to be in position at the bottom of the shaft, ready for when the heavy-duty equipment arrived and they could both be hoisted out of this dreadful place as soon as possible.

Her stomach churning with fear, Connie gave a curt little nod of agreement, and backed it up with a tender kiss on the top of Rabbit's bandanna'd head. Rabbit beamed with pleasure.

"Okay, son … let's do this." Connie took a deep, deep breath and shuffled backwards onto the first section of the ledge. "I'll check everythin' out as we go, an' you keep yer eyes on me, sweetie. You don't look down, y'hear? You just take it a little at a time, an' rest when ya need to. Oh – wait. Your arm …"

"What?" Rabbit had no idea what she was talking about, but he watched silently as Connie unbuckled one of the remaining belts from around his waist and gently pulled it from the belt loops. Easing his left arm over his chest, she rearranged the belt so that it kept the useless limb snug against his chassis and she buckled it tight. He groaned as it put pressure on his chest, but he knew that keeping the arm strapped up would stop it moving around and unbalancing him as he worked his way along the ledge.

"Sorry, son," she whispered. "Didn't mean to hurt ya."

"S'alright … M-Miz Connie. Good thinkin.'"

"Ya ready, sweet pea?"

"Uh-huh."

"Slow an' steady, right?"

Rabbit nodded.

"S-S-Slow … steady …"

And so, lying on his bad hip, unable to lean against the ledge wall or flat on his chest due to the rod embedded in his chassis, weak, bleeding oil and in awful pain, Rabbit began his epic journey along eight feet of unstable, narrow ledge towards the distant promise of freedom.

* * *

Joe and Sam were working away at the edge of the first block, trying to make enough room around the leading edge to work the lariat into place and loop it tightly.

The Jon already had Pie in place, the heavy square-rigged Texas saddle was double-girthed and the sturdy breast collar was buckled snugly, ready to give Pie more leverage as he pulled. Joe Redaya had spent his early life working cattle in the Lone Star State, and like all Texas cowhands his rope was tied to the saddle horn, as he figured that he was going to hang on to whatever he roped, come what may.

Gently stroking Pie's nose, The Jon watched as Joe grunted with satisfaction as he finally dug out enough dirt to clear the block's edge. Sam used a sturdy piece of metal to clear more rubble away beside the block, and Joe managed to gently work the loop of the rope around the block's edge, tightening the metal-lined _hondo_ , the rope now snug around the acute angle. Sitting back on his heels, he studied their handiwork.

"Okay, Sam … I think we're ready." Joe took his hat off and used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his brow before settling the Stetson back on his head. "Jon, ask Pie to put on a little pressure, will ya? Take it easy now …"

The Jon gave Pie a pat on the neck, and the big horse lowered his head and gently leaned forward, the rope tightening along his side and haunches.

Joe tapped Sam on his good shoulder and indicated to the drummer to get out of the way.

"Sam, I'd step back if I were you. If the rope snaps or works loose, I don't want you to be in the way. It'd hurt if it connected, son."

Sam nodded and stepped back reluctantly. He couldn't keep his eyes off the block, and as the tension increased, he saw dirt and small stones begin to trickle from the gap between the two jammed blocks.

"It's working!" Michael blurted, hope shining from his blue eyes.

But Joe raised his hand, and The Jon touched Pie on the shoulder. The horse stopped, keeping the tension up but halting the movement of the block. Joe crouched beside the block, checking the angle and making sure that the ground around the huge chunk of concrete and shaft entrance wasn't destabilising.

"Connie!" he called out, leaning over the shaft entrance. "Connie?"

"Uh … yeah, Joe? Hang on a moment …"

Joe heard movement below and Connie speaking quietly and calmly to Rabbit. He couldn't quite hear what she was saying, but he heard Rabbit's voice reply. The automaton sounded weak and ill, and his tone was halting. The conversation murmured on for a moment or two, and then Connie called up to Joe.

"Joe? Everything okay? I heard y'all fixin' ta move those blocks. We're fine, if that's what you're askin'."

Joe nodded to himself.

"We just had a go at movin' the top block. We're tryin' to move it sideways off the other block, and so far, so good. But we're dislodgin' dirt and stones into the shaft, and I don't want you folks worryin' too much, all right? Pie and Jon are takin' it slow, and if you have any worries, you holler, okay?"

"I hear ya," Connie said. "Rabbit an' I are workin' our way along the ledge. If my Jon says we gotta move an' be ready for gettin' outta here when you got those blocks shifted, then I'm just lettin' ya know we're workin' on it. There's a bit of a space beside the bottom of the shaft, an' that's where we're headin.'"

"What?" Michael frowned. "Moving along the ledge? How? Rabbit's not – "

"He's crawlin', son. It's so, _so_ hard, and he's hurtin' bad, an' he's bleedin', an' I'm scared outta my wits that he's gonna fall, an' I tried my damndest to stop him, but … he's Rabbit." Connie's voice was brittle with fear. "He's as stubborn as a Missouri mule an' then some, you know that."

Michael and Sam exchanged glances and then they turned to The Jon. The golden robot gave them a hesitant, hidden look, and his optics clicked. He stopped stroking Pie's neck for a moment, and Michael suddenly realised that The Jon was patently terrified. Brass plates quivered with tension, and The Jon's uninjured hand now clenched and unclenched in fear.

The mechanic slowly made his way over to his best friend, and reached past The Jon to run his hand down Pie's dark gold shoulder.

"Jon … are you okay? I'm getting worried about you, dude." Michael kept his voice low and calm.

The Jon looked up at him, unable to control the shaking that now ran through his chassis.

"M'scared."

"Yeah," Michael murmured. "I kinda figured you were. We're going as fast as we can to get Rabbit and Connie outta there, you know that. And Spine's going to be okay – I know he's hurt real bad, but he'll make it, I promise. Steve's hangin' on in there, and Sam and I … well, we'll live. So try not to worry too much, bro."

"I know," The Jon sighed. "But Michael … we have to _hurry_. Go as fast as … as … as _anything_. Rabbit an' Connie … Rabbit's really, _really_ sick and he's _bleeding_ and we don't have much time … we have to move those blocks and Rabbit's trying so hard to keep going and he has to get to the bottom of the shaft … " The Jon screwed up his face plates in concentration, "we gotta _hurry_ ," he repeated.

Michael felt a cold trickle down his spine.

"What's gonna happen?" he whispered.

The Jon seemed confused, and he shrugged helplessly.

Michael turned.

"Joe, let's get going on this. We don't have time for too much finesse – let's go as fast as we can without endangering anybody."

Joe Redaya looked from Michael to The Jon, and then to Sam, the drummer's face now grim with intent. His stomach lurched with fear. If The Jon could talk to horses, then it wasn't too much of a leap to realise that the little robot had a knack for knowing things, even if he couldn't seem able to express what was going on in his head.

Nodding wordlessly, he indicated to the Jon and Pie, and the big buckskin leaned into the pull and began to slowly move the giant block sideways.

* * *

Rabbit's progress was painfully slow. Inching forward on his side, the elbow of his good arm was his anchor. The strength was draining from his shoulder as he shuffled his elbow forward in the dirt, and his good leg gave a careful shove from behind. Each couple of inches brought him closer to the shaft, but the cost was high … he had to rest more frequently and by the time he was a third of the way along the ledge, he was beyond exhaustion.

Connie fretted. She sat sideways on the ledge, ever shuffling backwards, checking out the ledge as well as she could in the gloom. Neither the ledge wall nor the ledge itself were stable, and she was particularly concerned about the ability of the ledge to take Rabbit's heavy chassis, although she knew it would take her own slight weight. So she constantly ran her hands over the surface, feeling for cracks and irregularities, and she looked out for bulges or bits of rubble and metal sticking out of the wall.

But right now, she wanted Rabbit to give himself a minute or two to recover. His breathing was worrying the hell out of her. His bellows was struggling to keep up with the effort he was putting in, and his chassis was warm and clammy with condensation.

"Son, rest a moment. Catch your breath, y'hear?"

"I … I'm doin' fine …" Rabbit gasped, the wheeze in his chest crackling with moisture.

"No, boy, you're _not_ ," Connie scolded. "Rest, dammit!"

If Rabbit had been human, Connie's first thought at hearing the noisy breathing would have been pneumonia, but she had no idea if a bellows slowly filling with moisture would affect a robot.

"Ya gotta try an' let your body cool down a little – you're runnin' too hot an' your good bellows is gettin' all kinds of upset. Lord knows what's goin' on in the other one," she added under her breath.

"I'll rest when … when, uh, w-w-when we get ta the end," Rabbit groaned through gritted teeth. His cheek vents trickled steam, but it wasn't enough to help his bellows much. His cough when it came was wet and painful.

Connie couldn't do a thing. She touched his shoulder, trying to comfort him, but Rabbit just gave her a ghastly grin and kept going, his elbow scraping forward in the dirt and his booted foot pressing into the ledge and pushing him on by an inch or two.

Connie wanted to scream with frustration. Instead, she took a deep, grousing breath and shuffled backwards, making sure Rabbit held her gaze and that he moved straight and true.

"Yep," she muttered to no-one in particular. "I am _so_ gonna kick your metal butt when we get outta here …"

Rabbit made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chortle.

* * *

Steve Negrete was bored. He had packed and repacked his tool kit several times and he had used up a whole roll of Bussie's supply of toilet paper on blowing his nose. The snot quotient was alarming. He didn't even have his soul pan with him to take his mind off the pain and let the haunting sound of the instrument sooth his heart. His leg throbbed mercilessly and his chewed-up back hurt like hell. And he was _bored_.

He glanced at The Spine. The automaton hadn't moved since he had lapsed back into stasis some time ago. Blue still lay with his head resting on The Spine's shoulder, eyes latched onto Steve, watching him. Steve found the big mutt's steady gaze slightly un-nerving.

"Hey, dog." He said.

Blue's gaze didn't waver, but Steve saw his rump move as the stumpy tail wagged a couple of times.

"Huh." Steve raised an eyebrow. "You're a big, fierce, ferocious hound … _not_ ," he added.

Blue's stumpy tail wagged harder. His eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth twitched. Steve suddenly realised the dog was _smiling_.

"You're just a teddy bear, aintcha?" Steve couldn't help himself, and let a deep, rumbling laugh work its way out of his chest.

Blue raised his head at the sound and sat up, tongue hanging out in a grinning pant, and he gave a soft huff of pleasure at Steve's attention. But he didn't move from his place beside The Spine. He took his guardianship of the injured robot very seriously indeed.

"Good for you, Blue," Steve murmured. "Y'know, The Spine spends so much time takin' care of everyone else, it's about time someone took care of _him._ Even if it's just a dog. No offence," he added quickly.

Blue didn't seem to mind, and he cocked an ear, listening.

"I wonder how everything's going. It's driving me crazy, Blue. I can't do anything but sit here and be a damn' burden. I know, I know … it's not my fault. But if I hadn't decided to do something as dumb as repair a plaster triceratops, then maybe I wouldn't be this bust up. But then … " Steve halted and thought about it, "maybe … maybe it was meant to be. Maybe that ol' dino was meant to save my hide. Things are never what they seem to be … especially around The Jon," he added with a grin. "I just wish … I just wish I could _do_ something!"

He shifted uneasily, his back hurting.

Blue stopped panting and the dog's stocky body tensed. Steve frowned.

"What? What did I say?"

Blue growled.

Steve's eyes widened, alarmed.

"Whatever it was, I apologise!" he said hastily.

Blue suddenly gave out a series of deep, chopping barks, followed by more growls that now rumbled from the animal's chest.

"What the – "

Steve noticed the dust and dirt that had settled on the mattress. It was vibrating across the material. He felt a low thrum from the ground beneath him, and he instinctively gripped the side of the mattress.

Blue let out another barrage of hysterical barks, and he stood up, hackles raised.

"Oh no. No, no, _no_! _Not again!"_

Steve closed his eyes and hung on.

TBC


	19. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Nineteen

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

This aftershock was different.

Instead of a rippling, terrifying undulation that shook everything apart, this one set up a deep, bone-shaking vibration that rattled through the earth like the rumble of not-so-distant thunder.

Blue's desperate barks rang through the air, and Sam suddenly felt dizzy, his legs becoming unsteady as the resonance of the tremor ran through his body. He saw Michael stagger beside him, and he reached out his good hand to steady the mechanic.

"Oh God no, not another one!" Michael's voice sounded almost robotic, the vibration running up his frame and into his chest and larynx.

Sam felt oddly detached as he watched The Jon stumble against Pie, the little robot clutching at the saddle horn and trying to steady himself. The Jon was the nimblest of the automatons, but this strange, low-frequency tremble disorientated him, and Pie tried his best to keep up the tension on the rope as well as support his friend. But even the advantage of having four legs instead of two didn't help, and Pie went to his knees and then onto his side, The Jon tumbling beside him with a pained yelp.

As Sam tried desperately to stay on his feet, he saw Joe lurch sideways against one of the boulders at the entrance to the shaft. Joe managed to hang onto the boulder, but his legs went from under him, dumping him unceremoniously on the uneven ground.

This tremor was nowhere near as violent as the previous aftershocks, but its intensity made dust, dirt and small stones jump in a thrumming dance on the ground. If the situation hadn't been so dangerous Sam would have found the whole thing entrancing, as the ground surface leaped and shifted around him in sympathy with the shivering earth beneath.

Sam's legs finally gave way and he collapsed to his knees, Michael still struggling to stay upright beside him. The drummer vomited. He couldn't help himself – the vibration was running through his insides and he was unable to control the heaves, although he didn't have much in his stomach to bring up. Coughing and retching and wiping his mouth, he turned to the shaft to see Joe scrambling towards the entrance.

Oh god.  _Ohgodohgodohgod_ …

* * *

It had all been going so well.

Connie was sitting with her legs dangling over the ledge and Rabbit's head in her lap. She had lovingly bullied him into stopping his crippling crawl just for a moment or two, and Rabbit was content to be still, humming to himself after receiving a very gentle celebratory hug for reaching the halfway point along the ledge. His Connie rested one hand on his head and the other lay in its customary place on his chest, and he was humming because she had called him 'sweetheart'  _twice_. To be honest, he had to admit, it wasn't much of a hum. It was more of a dry croak, and he coughed painfully. Connie rubbed his chest and murmured a soft word of comfort, and then he continued his tuneless little hum, basking in the attention.

"Son?" Connie said quietly.

"Mm-hm?"

"We gotta move, sweetie. Ya know that." Connie hated herself for making him move, but they had to get to the end of the ledge and relative safety.

"M-Miz Connie?"

"Yeah?"

"Um … w-when we get outta here … ya said … y-you'd give me hugs?"

Connie smiled.

"Yeah, son, I did, an' of course I will."

"A-An' rub … rub my chest an' … an' pet my head i-if I get sick?"

Connie rubbed Rabbit's hurt chest and petted his bandanna'd head.

"Always," she replied dutifully.

"A-An' call me 'sweetheart' when I'm s-sad an' stuff?"

"Rabbit honey, didn't I promise I'd  _always_  call ya sweetheart, even when you ain't sad or hurt or sick?"

"'Cause I needs … needs  _a-all_  'a that, ya know." His voice was soft and breathless.

"Yeah, sweetheart … I know. An' your silly ol' Connie will always be here for ya. For  _all_  of my boys."

Reassured, Rabbit nodded to himself, and then wearily raised himself back up and onto his elbow. Connie shuffled around to face him, wincing as her swollen ankle caught on the ledge.

"G-Go easy there, Miz Connie," Rabbit scolded, "ya gotta … gotta take c-care of that ankle."

Connie raised an eyebrow.

"Son, you got a bust-up hip, a wrecked shoulder, a whole heap of steel bar right through ya, a passel of bleedin' oil lines alongside a bellows that don't work, plus I'm pretty damn' sure ya got some wires loose in yer head or else we wouldn't be doin' this damn' fool thing, and you're worried about my  _ankle_?"

Rabbit looked at her quizzically and blinked.

"W-Well …uh …  _yeah_ ," he said, mystified as to why she was even asking. Connie realised he was being completely serious. That garnered him another kiss on the top of his head, although he didn't quite understand how he had earned it.

Within minutes they were back at work, Connie talking and cajoling while checking out the ledge as she went, and Rabbit laboriously inching his way along.

It began as a faint, vibrating rumble.

"D'you hear that?" Connie muttered, more to herself than to Rabbit.

Rabbit was too busy concentrating on shifting his foot and pushing himself forward a good two inches, the effort making him gasp in 'pain.' He could feel a trickle of oil inside him somewhere near the back of his chassis. He knew another oil line had split, but he wasn't going to tell Connie – she would only fret and scold and worry, and she had enough to deal with right now.

But then he felt the vibration in the ledge beneath him and sensed rather than heard the thrum and judder.

"Miz Connie – "

"Yeah, son, I hear it too."

Rabbit raised his head and his mismatched optics glowed bright in the gloom.

"I-I think we're, uh, w-we're in trouble – "

"Oh god … RABBIT! HANG ON!"

Connie slid forward and shielded Rabbit's prone body with her own, arms wrapped tight around him, one hand grasping the lowest of the belts still around his waist, and she hung on grimly.

The world around them suddenly became alive with movement, a deep, heart-stopping shuddering throb that echoed around the chasm beside them, filling the air with deafening noise that made Connie yell with terror. Tucking her head behind Rabbit's wounded shoulder, she felt him shift beneath her, trying to turn so that he could use his good arm to protect her and keep her from harm.

"STAY STILL, Y'HEAR!" She bawled, trying to make herself heard above the racket.

The ledge behind Rabbit collapsed, leaving his legs hanging in nothing but space.

Connie wailed in terror, but then she felt Rabbit muster all of his strength and his one bellows filled as he took the deepest breath he could. He tried to push her away, urging her along the ledge towards the base of the shaft and away from him, his voice pure and strong and clear.

"GO!" Rabbit yelled, "GET OUTTA HERE!"

Connie tightened her grip and yelled back, furious.

"GODDAMIT, RABBIT! I AIN'T GOIN' NOWHERE!"

Earth and rubble disintegrated and vaporized, disappearing into the void, and Rabbit suddenly, terrifyingly, felt his chassis begin to slide backwards as the wall of the ledge started to shift beside him.

"CONNIE! GET OUTTA THE WAY! I'M FALLIN'!" He managed to work his good arm fully out from beneath him and he scrabbled at the surface of the ledge ahead, feeling Connie moving backwards, both of her hands now at his belt, pulling frantically.

"NO, YOU AIN'T, GODDAMMITALLTAHELL!" she hollered back.

Connie's slight weight didn't really have a hope of stopping Rabbit from sliding off the ledge and into the abyss, but somehow his chassis stopped moving for a precious few seconds, and his fingertips found a tiny crevice in the ledge surface. Jamming his fingers into the slim gap he used every bit of remaining strength he had and pulled himself forward, the metal rod protruding from his back leaving deep scores in the ledge wall. As he hauled himself out of immediate danger, he felt Connie pulling at his belt with every ounce of her strength.

She shrieked as part of the wall beside them collapsed, deluging them both with stones and rubble, and Rabbit yelled in agony as the rod in his chassis moved and pressed on his damaged bellows, the cough beginning even as he cringed under the onslaught of fragments of concrete and dirt.

"Crawl, Rabbit, dammit – CRAWL!" Connie's voice was raw with dust and dirt particles, but shaking herself free of the falling detritus she shifted her grip to the shoulders of Rabbit's vest where the lacing crisscrossed his back, and even though she couldn't physically pull him out of danger, her efforts spurred him on.

Pushing through the growing mound of debris, Rabbit managed to use the knee of his good leg to inch forward until he had at least three-quarters of his body on the remaining length of the ledge, Connie praying under her breath that the rest of it wouldn't crumble and send both of them to their deaths.

"C'mon, son … just a little more … keep goin', okay … we gotta get ya safe …"

As the aftershock died away and the deadly vibration eased and finally stopped, Connie kept pulling at Rabbit's vest, talking quietly to him and urging him forward as quickly as possible until both of his feet cleared the chasm and he was able to let himself collapse on the ledge and catch his breath.

Connie scrambled to her knees and swiftly scooped away the pile of rubble and dirt that partially covered the copper automaton, and then with great care she helped ease him fully onto his side, taking the pressure off the rod in his chest.

The paroxysm of coughing slowed, and Rabbit lay, shaking with tension and 'pain,' and raised his hand to hold Connie's. She clasped it with both hands and held it to her cheek, and Rabbit let out a dry chuckle.

"W-We're havin' a … a helluva day, huh," he wheezed.

Connie snorted with humour.

"Yep, son … one  _helluva_  day." She felt his hand fumble to lace through her fingers and she obliged, squeezing the metal digits gently. "Oh, an' Rabbit … don't you ever –  _ever_  – argue with me like that again, boy. I ain't ever gonna abandon ya, or leave ya when ya need me, y'hear? You do that again an' I might just have to whack ya upsides the noggin with the nearest skillet to knock some sense into those circuits in your dumb head!"

Rabbit squinted up at her in the dust-riven gloom and gave a soft, agonized laugh.

"Y-Yes,  _Ma'am_!"

The pair of them giggled until Rabbit couldn't catch enough breath to continue. Connie checked him over, making sure he hadn't come to any further harm during the upheaval, and then she rested a hand on his head.

"Okay, son … let's get to the end of this darned ledge and then we can wait around for someone to pull our sorry behinds outta here, yes?"

"Yes'm." Rabbit's face-plates and optics were a picture of solemnity.

"An' once we're free, we're gonna check out your brothers an' my boys an' make sure they're gonna be okay, right?"

"Y-Yes'm."

"And then," Connie frowned down at him, " _you_ , young man, are gonna power down and  _rest_  while Michael fixes you up, y'hear? An' we'll all be there when ya wake up, an' everything's gonna be  _just fine_."

"Yes'm. An' … an' d-don't forget my hug."

Connie nodded.

"An' your hug. I promise." Connie's mouth twitched with humour. "Okay, tough guy, let's go. We got just a couple of feet to go an' we're there. An' I want ta check that my boys an' Joe're okay."

And with that, Rabbit heaved himself up onto his elbow, made sure that Connie was safely ahead of him, and doggedly resumed his journey along what remained of the ledge.

* * *

The trembling stopped as quickly as it had begun, and Joe made it to the entrance of the shaft and leaned over, careful not to dislodge any debris or blocks of concrete. As he peered into the shaft, he couldn't stop himself from sagging to his knees in relief.

He could hear giggling. Connie and Rabbit were both alive. And  _giggling_. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what the hell there was to giggle about.  _Well_ , he thought _, it doesn't matter. As long as they're both alive, then they can giggle to their hearts' content_.

The tremor had also done the rescue attempt a huge favour – the top block had twisted sideways into the space Sam had cleared, and the leading edge was now free of the block below, which still jutted out into the shaft space. Joe's thorough check of the surrounding area confirmed that although some of the blocks embedded in the walls of the shaft had moved, there was still space a-plenty for Rabbit and Connie to be pulled to freedom. All that was in their way was this one stubborn block that was their next objective. But, Joe knew, this was the difficult one. It supported a number of smaller blocks around it, and he was afraid that any movement would cause the shaft to collapse. But, he sighed, there was no other choice.

Getting to his feet, Joe turned to speak to The Jon and found the little automaton dragging himself painfully upright and then hugging Pie, who had struggled to his feet, his knees cut and bleeding. The lariat lay slack, the tension gone now that the block had moved.

"Oh, Pie!" The Jon wailed, hugging Pie even tighter as Joe appeared beside him and checked the horse's front legs.

Joe was quick to reassure him.

"Jon, son, he'll be fine. They'll be swollen and sore for a while, but he'll be as sound as a bell in a few days, I promise."

"But … but he's hurt, Joe! It's not just his knees … his back's all pulled and jarred!"

Joe's heart sank. Pie was the key to the whole thing. How were they going to move the block without Pie's steady strength and power? Nevertheless, he patted The Jon's shoulder in sympathy.

"Don't worry – we'll think of somethin', I guess. We've managed so far, so it just means we need to do more thinkin.'"

The Jon turned teary optics to Joe and his face was set with fear.

"Rabbit and Connie …"

"They're all right, son."

The Jon's tense chassis relaxed a little, and Pie dropped his head into The Jon's hands as if to comfort him. The Jon rested his forehead against Pie's.

"Wait until you meet Rabbit. He's …  _special_." The Jon whispered.

Pie snorted in reply, the wrenched muscles in his back making him shift uneasily. The Jon petted the big horse.

"I know. It hurts, huh." He continued petting the gelding, listening carefully. "But Pie … you  _can't_! Your back's all knotted up and – " he stopped as though interrupted. "Oh … okay. As long as you're sure …" The Jon turned to Joe. "Pie says if you make sure the rope's on his other side, he can take it slowly and it won't hurt too much."

Joe looked from automaton to horse and back again.

"Pie  _says_  … ? " he sighed. "Okay. He's talkin' to ya. I guess I'd better get used to it." He turned and gestured at the mule standing safe and sound near the remains of Connie's house. "How about the mule? He don't listen to a damn thing anyone says, and he's nowhere near as big as Pie, but he might be able to move the block if we take it easy."

The Jon shook his head.

"I can't talk to Muley," he said.

Joe blinked.

"You … you  _can't_? Why not?"

The Jon shrugged.

"I don't speak Navajo."

Joe was astonished.

"Navajo? The damn' mule speaks  _Navajo_?"

"Well,  _yeah_!" The Jon admonished. "I tried French, German, Italian and Vietnamese, but … he doesn't understand. You got him from Mister Yazzie, right?"

"Um … yes …" Joe remembered Ben Yazzie, the Navajo elder in Arizona who had sold the mule to him two years previously. It had never occurred to him that the mule didn't understand English. "You know all of those languages?"

The Jon nodded.

"We were all programmed to speak French and German back in 1917, and Italian in '41. Rabbit speaks Japanese, an' we picked up some Vietnamese in '68. Muley doesn't understand a word of any of 'em. Pie says he only understands Navajo."

Joe's eyebrows quirked.

"Huh," he said.

"Anyways," continued The Jon, "Pie says he'll be okay if we're careful." The little robot's mouth formed into a sad pout. "He wants to help, even though his back's all beat up. He's  _brave_."

Joe raised a hand and stroked the big horse's neck.

"Thanks, Pie. You're one tough horse, you know that?"

Pie nickered gently, and Joe grinned.

"He understands me!"

The Jon frowned.

"Of  _course_  he does! He does speak English, ya know!"

Joe thought of all the times he had sworn at the beast, or called him dumb or stubborn or just plain antsy. He pulled Pie's ear gently as an apology.

"He says you're welcome!" The Jon said, his face-plates sliding into a smile.

Joe shook his head. Yep. Life was  _weird_.

* * *

Michael Reed was helping a sick-to-his-stomach Sam to stand, and he winced as he turned a little too quickly when he heard Steve yelling from the shelter, desperate to know if everyone was okay. The engineer sounded scared.

Michael raised his hand and waved, his broken ribs not allowing him to take a deep enough breath to shout back, and he saw Steve slump back in relief. Blue stood beside him, the big dog guarding both Steve and The Spine. That made Michael happy. Blue's sense of responsibility towards not only The Spine but also their battered and broken S.O.U.N.D. Engineer meant that Michael had an extra pair of eyes and ears to keep watch and to make sure his two friends were safe.

He had seen by the expression on Joe's face that Rabbit and Connie were alive, but he stumbled over to the shaft entrance with a sickly Sam in tow, and both of them peered into the darkness.

"Connie! You alive down there?" Michael yelled.

"We're fine now, son! It's so good to hear your voice! Everybody all right up there?"

"Yeah. This last tremor wasn't anywhere near as bad and everyone's alive."

"Speak for yourself," muttered Sam, still feeling queasy.

Michael slapped him on his left shoulder good-humouredly and grinned.

"Sam's delicate tummy objected to the vibrations a little, but otherwise we got through it. Don't worry, Connie. Spine's powered down and resting. I patched him up as well as I could. I'll be able to do a better job once we get outta here, but he'll live. Steve … well, I'm worried as hell about his leg, but he's hangin' in there. He's goin' nuts not being able to help, but he's … well … conscious and sassy as hell, so that's a good sign."

Connie nodded, relieved. Her boys were all alive and lookin' to stay that way.

The mechanic's smile faded. "How's Rabbit?" he asked gently.

"M'fine, Michael," came the reply. The words were hoarse, breathless and riven with pain, but the voice was unmistakeable. "I, uh, I-I might need … a little … little fixin' up, though …"

"Rabbit!" Sam's discomfort was forgotten as he heard the rasping voice, weak but clear. "We'll have you out of there as soon as we can," he continued, his own voice breaking.

Michael tried to make out shapes in the gloom below, and slowly but surely his eyes became accustomed to the murk, and he was relieved to see Connie creep into view at the bottom of the shaft as she shunted backwards on the ledge. She looked up at him and smiled.

"We're nearly there, Michael. Rabbit's survivin', but I'll be happier when we can relax a little an' wait for you boys to pull us outta here." Connie paused and then added "We're gettin' pretty damn' tired of this place, son. I don't know … I … Rabbit's so hurt … an' I need to see y'all. See that you're okay …"

Michael and Sam looked at one another.

"We're, ah, going as fast as we can, Connie." Michael said carefully. "We have one of the big blocks moved … well, actually, this last tremor kinda did it  _for_  us … and we're about to try and move the second one. This one's a bit more tricky as it's holding back some others that might collapse as we move it, so we  _have_  to go slowly. Sorry," he added.

"That's fine, hon. Y'all know what yer doin,' an' we trust ya. You just do what ya gotta do."

"L-Like Wyatt Burp … an' … a-an' Doc LaborDay," Rabbit ground out as he made a final effort and slumped on the ledge just at the shaft's base. He instantly felt Connie's hand on his head, and with her help he tilted his chassis sideways just far enough to be able to look upwards at the little circle of light at the top.

The glare hurt his optics for a second or two, and then he could make out faces gazing down at him. For the first time since the earthquake he saw two members of his family, and he broke into an exhausted-but-very-happy grin.

"H-Hey Michael … Sam … l-l-long time, uh, no see …" he murmured.

Michael on the other hand, was appalled when he finally saw his friend. He glanced at Sam, and his own thoughts were mirrored on the drummer's moustachio'd face. Rabbit was in dire need of help.

"Rabbit … we're gettin' you out of there as soon as we can, buddy," he said softly. "Help's coming, I promise."

"I … I know. Miz Connie … she … she's lookin' o-out for me … 'm fine."

"No … no you're not," Sam muttered.

The Jon flung himself down beside them, making the two humans wince as his heavy chassis set dust rising in a small cloud at the shaft entrance.

"RABBIT!" His blue photo-receptors widened as he saw his older brother. "Oh, RABBIT! You're … you're … oh dear! Michael, we gotta be quick! C'mon! Pie's ready to go! Let's up an' at 'em!"

"Hey, Th'Jon …yeah … up … u-up an' at 'em …" Rabbit echoed quietly.

Connie looked up at her boys.

"Please … hurry," she said simply.

Michael looked at The Jon and Sam.

"Okay, guys. Up an' at 'em."

And that's exactly what they did.

* * *

Joe had rearranged the rope tied to the saddle horn so that it fell along Pie's left flank, trying to take the pressure off the wrenched muscles in the horse's back. Then he had very carefully rigged the loop around the leading edge of the protruding block in the shaft.

Sam stood by the shaft entrance watching for any hint of collapse, and Michael just stayed out of the way and fretted quietly.

Pie very carefully leaned into the pull and set up a gentle pressure. The rope began to take up the tension, and Joe, his hand on the rope gauging the angle, watched the loop tighten. The block didn't move, but small stones and dirt from the embedded edge trickled into the shaft.

Sam heard Connie say something, and he leaned over to reassure her. Connie and Rabbit had successfully completed their trek along the ledge, and were now safely ensconced in the small recess beside the shaft. They were, at last, within a reasonable chance of rescue – if only help would arrive soon with equipment that could deal with getting both of them up the shaft and into the fresh air and wide, clear horizons.

Connie shouted up that both she and Rabbit were fine, and that any 'crap' that fell down the shaft wouldn't worry them – as long as it wasn't the stubbornly embedded block itself.

Sam looked at Joe and Michael, determination on his face.

"Right. I think we go for it, guys."

Joe and Michael nodded wordlessly.

Sam turned to The Jon.

"Tell Pie to go steady, and if it's hurtin' then he's to stop and rest."

"Okay, Pie, you just take it easy," The Jon urged as he touched the gelding's shoulder. "Go slow and steady, okay?"

Pie did just that.

The job was slow and terrifying. The block was stuck hard and fast within the surrounding rubble, and Pie, with infinite patience and with the skill of a veteran roping horse, kept up a steady tension on the block.

Over the next two hours, the block moved slowly but surely sideways. The process was dirty, difficult and dangerous. At least a dozen times they had to stop and gently move smaller blocks that threatened to fall into the shaft, and each one of these procedures was rife with danger. A moment's lack of concentration could be fatal not only to Connie and Rabbit, but to the three humans clustered around the shaft entrance, which was increasingly unstable as the operation went on.

Every inch, every subtle adjustment of angle and pull was done in silence. The Jon and Pie worked together as though they had known each other all of their lives, the big horse understanding every gesture and touch communicated to him by the little 'bot. The Jon didn't need to speak.

Michael had to admit he was in awe of the slightly-built automaton. He had known The Jon all of his life … he had grown up with The Jon as a part of his existence for as long as he could remember, and he had  _never_  seen this side of him. The concentration on the brass face and the desperation emanating from The Jon's chassis both worried and astounded him. And Michael loved his friend all the more for it.

"Whoa, Pie!"

Michael's reverie was interrupted by a yell from Joe, and he turned back to the shaft entrance to see Joe grinning like a loon and freeing the rope from around the block.

"We did it!" Joe said, his black eyes shining with delight. "Pie goddamn  _did it_!"

The Jon, a smile that would have gained him a major Connie-hug plastered on his mobile face, turned and flung his arms around Pie's neck. Pie looked rather pleased with himself.

Michael and Sam carefully gathered around the shaft entrance and joined Joe in examining the width of the newly-created gap. Connie appeared at the bottom of the shaft and gazed up at them, and they could hear her gentling Rabbit who appeared to be breathlessly complaining about not being able to  _see_  anything, and that he was  _cold_ , and that his chest  _hurt_  like the  _blazes_ , and that he  _needed_  a hug because he was  _sick_.

Michael smirked to himself – the anticipation of rescue seemed to have restored Rabbit's petulant nature … the one thing that reared its head whenever he wasn't feeling at his best. And, Michael had to admit, Rabbit certainly wasn't  _well_.

"It's lookin' good, boys!" Connie called out, smiling broadly. "I think we'll get through there … although …" Her face fell as her words tailed away.

Sam frowned.

"What? What is it?"

Connie's eyebrows drew down as she thought for a moment.

"We're gonna have ta be careful with Rabbit," she said quietly. "That damned rod in his chest … I don't want it catchin' on the sides as he goes up. An' I guess we won't have the luxury of doin' anythin' else but drag both of us outta here. It's gonna hurt him."

"Don't … don't care," Rabbit muttered. "I … I just w-want us … want us … outta here. Ain't gonna kill me. I-I-I had worse."

"No … no you haven't," The Jon said stoutly as he joined his friends at the top of the shaft.

"Ain't … ain't nothin' M-Michael can't fix … a-an' lots of ice cream," Rabbit added. "You … you an' Spine can have … have some too." Rabbit thought for a moment. "A-After Miz Connie, uh, g-gives me my hug."

Connie squinted up at Michael.

"He  _is_  kinda … well … hug-fixated, ain't he," she said, amused.

"ME TOO!" burbled The Jon.

"I know, sweetie, I know. An' I'll be givin' hugs to ya all when I get outta here."

Their discussion was interrupted by the sound of hooves. Joe stood up and gazed into the distance, and Blue began another medley of chopping barks from his place beside The Spine, who stirred restlessly.

Walt Redaya rode into view, his little mare picking her way through the debris and avoiding the various rifts that ran here and there in what remained of Connie's station yard. He was followed by a big black Ram pickup and a smaller jeep that powered into a space near what was left of the canopy.

Joe's face looked as though it would split in two as he grinned with relief.

"That's George Humboldt's pickup! Thank God!" He peered down the shaft. "The help's here, Connie! We'll be right back!"

And before Connie could answer, Joe hurried across to meet the occupants of the vehicles, followed by two humans and a little brassold robot. But as The Jon grew closer, he slowed and then halted, standing alone and running his hands up and down his suspenders.

But nobody noticed The Jon's discomfiture as a big, bluff man with receding hair and a florid face eased out of the driver's side of the pickup and grinned at Joe, hand extended in greeting.

"Hey Joe, it's good ta see ya! We was gettin' worried about Connie, and we was goin' to head out anyways, but Walt here was ahead of us. Is she okay? There's other folks here that're hurt?"

Joe took the proffered hand and shook it enthusiastically, and grinned in welcome at the two other men decanting from the jeep.

"Tom, Clarence! Thanks for comin'! We got quite the situation here!" Joe greeted them with relief. "Yep, we got a feller with a badly-broken leg, Michael here has a few broke ribs an' Sam's shoulder is dislocated. Connie's okay but she has a twisted ankle and she's trapped underground. We also got a hurt boy down there. He's pretty bust up, fellas. Connie's been doin' all she can to tend him, but he's hurt bad and we need to get him outta there pronto. His brother's pretty badly hurt too but he's resting over there." He indicated the makeshift shelter. "He's okay for now, though."

"Jeez," said Tom Brander, a tall, lanky fellow with expressive blue eyes that belied his saturnine appearance. "We got chains an' a winch, Joe. There was goin' to be another pickup with us, but they had to go help a family trapped in their cellar on the other side of the valley. I think we can manage to help out here."

Joe nodded.

"Any word on the rescue chopper?"

Walt joined them after ground-hitching Zooey beside Muley.

"It's goin' to be here in a couple of hours, Grandfather. They managed to get to Takoya quicker than they thought, and they'll be out to fetch that one as soon as they refuel," he gestured with his chin towards Steve, who was getting extremely frustrated at not being included in the conversation.

"Good … that's good." Joe thought it through. "Sam, can you go with Steve? I think Connie'll be okay to travel in the pickup along with us. Spine, Rabbit and The Jon can go in the back."

Sam agreed, wincing. His shoulder was throbbing.

"Michael? You should go with Steve an' Sam – " Joe continued.

"Nope," Michael retorted firmly. "I have to take care of Rabbit and Spine. I'll go with you in the jeep if that's okay and then I can get checked out later at the hospital."

"What … um … what about the boy in the hole, Joe?" Clarence Ticonderoga said, his small stature and soft, kind brown eyes belying his impressive name.

"Rabbit? We have to get him and his brothers into Takoya in the pickup. Clarence, you've got an auto-repair business – can we use your workshop?"

Clarence was mystified, but agreed.

"Yeah … sure … but what for?"

Joe turned and gestured at The Jon, now hanging back warily.

"Jon? C'mere, will ya?" Joe saw his fear. "It's okay, son … they're here to help Rabbit and Connie."

The three newcomers stared at this strange little figure in the top hat, golden face plates shining and blue optics studying them with uncharacteristic nervousness.

"This here's The Jon, guys. It's his brother Rabbit that's stuck down the hole with Connie."

George Humboldt stared at The Jon incredulously, and then shifted angry eyes to Joe.

"You … you gotta be kiddin' me, right?"

Joe frowned, confused.

"What do ya mean, George? His brother Rabbit's hurt pretty bad, and we need – "

Humboldt was incensed.

"Brother?  _Brother_? That … that  _thing_  ain't got no  _brother_! You hauled us all the way out here to pull a … a …  _tin thing_  out of a hole? Are you  _crazy_?"

Joe didn't know what to say. It had never occurred to him that automatons apparently didn't have the same rights as humans, and although he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out.

Sam and Michael straightened as anger flared, but it was The Jon who spoke.

"But … but mister … ya said you would help! Rabbit's my  _brother_! He's  _hurt_! He's gonna  _die_  if we don't get him outta there!"

Humboldt ignored him, his florid face turning even redder as he pushed it closer to Joe's visage.

"Joe … you're a good friend, an' we're happy to help Connie. We owe her … all of us. But we get her outta the hole, get the humans outta here an' then we're gone. There are  _real_ people that need our help. These tin …  _whatever the hell they are_  … I couldn't give a damn about 'em. They can rust for all I care. We got  _human beings_  to save."

And without waiting for an answer, George Humboldt turned on his heels and headed back to his pickup.

TBC


	20. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Twenty

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

"What the _hell_ – " Michael could not believe what he had just witnessed. This man … this George Humboldt, whoever the hell he was, had refused to help Rabbit. Not ' _couldn't'_ help. _Refused to help_.

Michael Reed was not a man who was easily riled. He was known for his good and caring nature, and the fans adored him for his readiness to chat and hug. So when Sam saw him stride forward to tackle Humboldt, he knew that what was going to happen next probably wasn't going to help their cause, especially when he saw Michael's right hand ball into a fist.

While Sam's blood boiled with anger at Humboldt, he knew punching the man out wasn't a Good Thing, so pushing past a dumbfounded Tom Brander and Clarence Ticonderoga, he moved as fast as he could to catch up with the mechanic, good hand already outstretched to grasp Michael's arm before he did something rash.

But Joe beat him to it. He caught Michael by the shoulder to try and halt the tall young man's advance, but Michael shrugged him off, not even breaking his stride even though his broken ribs were playing merry hell with his pain thresholds.

"Michael – " Joe muttered, and he trotted forward to stand in front of his young friend, blocking his advance. Michael took a couple of steps sideways to walk around him, but before he could go any further, Joe seized the opportunity and grasped Michael by both shoulders, finally bringing him to a stop.

"Joe … get outta my way," Michael growled.

"No, son – ain't gonna happen." Joe's voice was low and calm. "Go take care of The Jon. The boy's pretty upset, an' that's when you need family around you." Joe paused, waiting for a reaction. Michael looked as though he was going to push the matter, but Joe nipped it in the bud. "Go on! Git!"

Michael stared at Joe for a moment, and then he let out an explosive breath and rubbed weary eyes with the fingers of the hand that only moments ago was set to push George Humboldt's false teeth right down his throat.

"Okay, okay … I guess you're right." He sighed. "Joe … if he doesn't help, what're we gonna do?"

Joe shook his head, completely at a loss and with no real idea about how to fix the situation.

"I don't know … but I'm gonna try and make him see … make him understand …"

Michael nodded bleakly.

"I'll go talk to The Jon. Joe …"

"Yeah, son?"

"You _have_ to make him understand. We _have_ to get Rabbit out of that place. I've never seen him hurt this badly, and … and … I don't even know if I _can_ fix him." Michael took a shuddering breath. "I don't know what'll happen if we can't get him out." He ran out of words and his blue eyes filled with tears.

Joe's eyebrows raised and the muscles along his jaw jumped. He had to find a way to sort this out. If he didn't … he turned and headed towards George Humboldt and his pickup.

* * *

Connie sat at the bottom of the shaft, tucked alongside Rabbit in the tiny recess, and heard angry voices coming from the surface. One was Joe's, but she tried to place the other one. The blustering voice and the vehement tones were familiar … oh _, now_ she remembered. George Humboldt. _He_ was their rescuer. She had known George for decades, knew his nature and his good points and his foibles. He was not an easy man to like, although he was straightforward, blunt, and scrupulously honest.

She tried to make out what was being said, and she heard Humboldt's angry reaction to _something_. She just wished she knew what it was.

Connie was tucked against the wall of the shaft with Rabbit curled beside her. His over-six-feet frame couldn't stretch comfortably in this tight space, so with his head in its usual place on her lap, he lay on his side with his knees drawn up almost in a foetal position. His back was pressed against the side of the recess, and the metal rod dug painfully against the wall, but there was nothing he could do about it. His breathing was laboured and he kept complaining that he was 'cold.' He shivered and tic'd constantly. Connie couldn't for the life of her figure out why at first, as his boiler was running hot. The only thing she could finally think of was that some of the neural circuits controlling his mental processes were glitching, and this, combined with a failing thermostatic control system, was sending error codes through his electrical synapses, informing his antiquated software that his temperature was too low. This in turn made his battered and malfunctioning internal workings crank up the speed, hence the 'shiver' as the increased – and pointless – activity inside his chassis vibrated through his system. At least, that was the way she interpreted the situation using her knowledge of human physiology, which, she decided, had worked fairly well so far.

Joe had sent down a bottle of water and Rabbit managed to drink it all, filling his straining boiler and allowing his injured system to keep running. But with only one working bellows he struggled to vent surplus steam quickly enough, and that, she guessed, was the reason for the 'wet' sound she heard whenever he took a breath. His bellows was full of condensation and inhibiting his breathing. Her suspicions were correct – Rabbit probably had a form of robotic 'pneumonia'. His systems were beginning to gradually shut down.

Connie decided that enough was enough. They needed to get out of this nightmare and she couldn't understand what the holdup was.

"Joe? Joe! What's happenin'?"

There was no answer.

"JOE! ANYBODY! Answer me, will ya?"

A moment later, Sam's face appeared at the top of the shaft. The drummer looked stricken.

"Sam? Sam, honey … what the hell's goin' on?"

"Um …" Sam didn't know what to say. "We, ah … we're just discussing things, Connie. We'll be, er, sorting something out soon."

Connie frowned.

"We gotta get outta here, boy, an' soon. Is there a problem?"

Sam couldn't meet her gaze.

"Connie-girl … I … I don't know what to tell you."

Connie's eyes narrowed.

"Sam Luke, you tell me right now what's goin' on up there. I heard some sorta hoo-hah goin' on, an' no sign of anyone tryin' to get my Rabbit an' me outta this hellhole. I wanna know, an' I wanna know _now_."

So Sam took a deep breath and told her.

* * *

The Jon was distraught.

As soon as Humboldt had stalked off towards his pickup, The Jon had stumbled away, finding the confused scrutiny of Brander and Ticonderoga too much to take. These people were going to let Rabbit die. His brother was going to die _because he wasn't human_.

His saviour was Pie.

The big horse was patiently standing where they had left him after shifting the block, still attached to the lariat. He was obviously sore, as his back legs shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof, trying to relieve the pain in his wrenched back.

The Jon flung his arms around Pie's neck and hung on, burying his face in the animal's dark mane and sobbing brokenly. Pie stood as still as he could, ears flicking in distress, and he let out a low, rumbling murmur of noise.

"Jon?"

Michael's voice was soft.

The Jon felt his best friend's hand on his back, supporting him.

"Jon … we're going to get Rabbit out of there, you know that, don't you?"

The Jon made a soft sound, muffled by Pie's mane, and Michael gently squeezed the automaton's shoulder, feeling the vibration of distressed plates and the hitch of sobs. It broke his heart.

"Your friend's right," said a voice behind the mechanic.

Michael turned to see young Walt Redaya watching them both, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. It was obvious that the boy was deeply unhappy at the situation.

"We'll get him out somehow. I don't know what Grandfather is goin' to do, but he's pretty clever – an' he knows Mister Humboldt real well. If anyone can figure it out, Grandfather can. And Mister Brander and Mister Ticonderoga are good people. I don't think they're too happy about it, but Mister Humboldt has the pickup with the winch on it, so they're kinda stuck without him."

Michael heard the respect in Walt's voice not only for his grandfather but also for their rescuers, despite the difficult situation. He liked that.

The Jon let out more hiccupping sobs, but he turned an oil-streaked face to the young Apache.

"Joe's _awesome_ ," he said, simply.

Walt grinned his fetching grin.

"He sure is."

He looked up at Michael, and took a few steps forward to touch The Jon's arm.

"Hey – how about we take care of Pie? He still has his saddle on and he needs a rest, huh. Wanna learn how to do that? Then we'll take care of his knees. Whaddaya say?"

The Jon brightened a little.

"His b-back's hurt too," he said, voice still glitchy with sobs.

Walt stroked Pie's muzzle.

"Poor fella," he crooned to the gelding. "Don't worry – we'll take care of you," he murmured. He looked at The Jon. "Hey there. We've never been _properly_ introduced. My name's Walt, which you already know. And you're The Jon, I guess."

The Jon nodded shyly.

"Yep. That's me." He stuck out a hand which Walt took. His handshake was firm.

"I gotta say," said Walt, ducking his head a little in embarrassment, "I never met robots before. No offense," he added hastily.

"That's okay," said The Jon with a shaky smile, "I've never met an Apache before. Met a Cree Indian durin' the war once. He was our turret gunner (1)," he added.

Walt's eyebrows went up. "Turret gunner?"

"Yup," nodded The Jon. "We were flyin' with the 398th outta Nuthampstead back in '44." The Jon's face-plates slid momentarily into grief. "We lost him over Saarbrücken on a bombing raid. The flack just about took our tail off."

Walter Redaya was stunned.

"You … you fought in World War II?"

The Jon nodded.

"B-17s. Navigator."

"Jeez."

There was a moment's silence, and then The Jon stroked Pie's shoulder and gave the horse another hug.

"C'mon, Pie. Let's get your saddle off and look at those knees. You're hurtin.'" He took Pie's reins, but he turned back to Michael for a moment. "Rabbit's not gonna die, Michael. We can't let him die. He … he's our _brother_."

Michael looked at The Jon as steadily as he could.

"I know, buddy. We'll think of something."

The Jon nodded, and then set to his task of taking care of Pie.

* * *

"Spine!"

The Spine shifted uneasily. He still lay supine under the warm comforter, feeling no 'pain.'

"Spine!" The voice came again, an urgent, low hiss. "C'mon, Spine – wakey-wakey. We need ya!" It was followed by a chesty sneeze and an irritated "Dammit!"

This time The Spine muttered, unwilling to let go of his pain-free state. A wet, slurping lick was noisily swept from chin to brow, and then a loud snorting snuffle accompanied by a very cold nose was pressed against his ear.

He woke up.

"Dog …" he said.

"Dog can't speak. That'd be me," said Steve. "But not doin' the slurpy-cold-nose thing. _That's_ the dog," he explained needlessly.

Turning woozily towards Steve, The Spine found himself eye to eye with Blue, who was gazing at him with a combination of adoration and concern. Steve was peering around Blue's solid frame, one eyebrow hitched worriedly.

"You awake?" asked the engineer.

"Gettin' there," rasped The Spine.

"How are ya feeling?" asked Steve.

The Spine raised an eyebrow. He hurt. All _over_.

"I'm fine," he lied. "What's happening?"

"There's somethin' going on but I can't make out what it is because _nobody's bothered to tell me_ ," groused Steve. "The people who were supposed to get Rabbit and Connie outta that hole have arrived, but nothing's happening other than a whole lot of bad temper and The Jon's all upset. Something's wrong, Spine. _Really_ wrong." Steve's face was strained and pale under the tan. "I can't do anything. I don't know what's happening, and I got a feeling it's bad. You said to wake you when they arrived, so … so I did," he added lamely.

The Spine inflated his bellows as much as he could and found it hurt to breathe, but it was bearable. Michael had done a fine job of patching him up and the night's rest had done him good. He could, if he was careful, keep going for a little while longer.

Steve brought him up to speed.

"We had another aftershock – which you slept right through, incidentally - and Rabbit an' Connie don't have much room down in that hole to move now, but they made it to the bottom of the shaft. We got the blocks out of the way, though – the shaft's clear."

The Spine smiled to himself. That was good news.

"Thank god. I'll go and find out what the holdup is," he said.

"Take it easy, m'friend. You're not exactly up to par. And tell me what's going on!" Steve fretted.

The Spine lifted his good hand and scratched Blue behind the ears, which made the big dog wriggle with pleasure, and then he struggled to get to his feet. It was a slow business, and he finally lost patience with his own weakness.

"C'mon, you pointless hunk of metal," he muttered to himself, frustrated and in 'pain,' "you're a big, strong robot who can whup his weight in wildcats, so 'man up' and get on your feet, you wimp."

He heard Steve's poorly-controlled snort.

It took him nearly ten minutes to finally stand straight and steady on his own two feet, although he looked a little out of balance as he pressed his good hand to the hole in his side. He couldn't prevent the grimace of agony, no matter how hard he tried.

"Well, o-okay then … " he breathed more to himself than to anyone else, "let's see what's holding everything up. I'll be back as soon as I can, Steve."

Steve gingerly allowed his battered frame to rest on the cushions Michael had placed behind him to ease his back.

"This drives me crazy, you know that," he said quietly. "I feel so damned _useless_."

Green photo-receptors gazed down at him.

"No, Steve. You're _not_. You keep us sane, my friend. Always the voice of reason."

Steve gave a one-shouldered shrug and wiped his nose.

"Well, go find out what's goin' on and tell me, will ya? I worry, you know," he sniffed.

The Spine had to hide a smile as he set off at a slow, shaky walk across the debris-strewn gas-station yard towards his family, with Blue walking patiently behind him.

* * *

"Just what the hell is _wrong_ with you?" Joe hissed quietly.

He was standing next to George Humboldt, watching the big man sort through chains, ropes and a sling harness stored on the bed of the pickup.

Humboldt looked up from his chore and narrowed his eyes.

"Joe, we have to get Connie outta that hole, so that's what I'm doin'. We can use a half-inch rope with the sling, and use the winch on the RAM to haul her out. How close can we get?"

Joe took a deep breath to calm himself, and tried again.

"George – we need to get that boy outta there. Connie will throw a conniption if she hears you're even _thinkin_ ' of leavin' him in there, and I have to tell you – you may think Rabbit's just a 'thing,' but he's saved her life more'n once since the earthquake."

Humboldt picked up a heavy-duty rope and gauged the strength, and began attaching the padded sling to the end.

"Connie don't weigh much – this should do," he said, pointedly ignoring Joe's words. "We'll need a bar or somethin' to stretch across the shaft mouth so we can loop the rope over it an' bring her up straight, and once she's at the top we can just lift her out."

"Listen to me, George," Joe tried to keep his voice level. "I've seen these people in action – robot and human. I've been workin' alongside 'em, and I was a bit surprised when I first met 'em. But they're as human as you an' me, man. They hurt, they love, they laugh an' … an' they cry, too. They've been working their butts off not just to save their brother, but to save Connie. She's as dear to them as if she was one of their own. It's just about killed 'em, but they just keep goin.' They're decent people, George. _Decent people_."

George Humboldt gathered up his gear, but he stopped for a second and looked Joe straight in the eye.

"These things are _not people_ , Joe. They're constructs. Toys for grown-ups. They have no heart, and what so-called 'feelings' they have are just electric circuits and programming. I've been pulling _real_ people outta holes since the 'quake hit – most of 'em are alive, but I've hauled out dead human beings too … includin' a family with three kids. So forgive me if I can't pretend that just because a metal man can talk an' laugh an' pretend to cry makes it human. Because it _ain't_."

Joe nodded. He had to admit he understood Humboldt's view – up to a point. But as the big man turned away to begin setting up the winch mechanism at the front of the RAM, Joe spoke quietly.

"I understand what you're sayin,' George. I really do. You say they're not human. They have no feelings. But think about it … if we'd been discussin' this a hundred and fifty years ago, you could have been sayin' the same thing about _me_."

Humboldt froze.

Joe straightened, shoulders back, head high.

"I am Joseph Redaya of the _Saidindê_ , Mountain Dwellers, Sand People … the Jicarilla Apache. We've lived here for thousands of years, livin' off the land. But a hundred and fifty years ago we were regarded as bein' worth less than a dead coyote. We were betrayed, murdered, and sold into slavery. Your ancestors gave us diseases that killed us, and tried to destroy our culture, our language and our heritage. We were _not people_. So I understand what you're sayin', George – Spine, Jon and Rabbit are worthless because they are _not people_."

George Humboldt turned beet-red.

"Joe, so help me, if you weren't a friend I'd – "

But his rant was halted before it had really begun by a commotion at the shaft entrance.

Miss Connie Dawson was very, very angry indeed.

* * *

"He said _WHAT_?" Connie's face was white with fury.

Sam sat at the top of the shaft, feeling completely useless. He had filled Connie in on the state of things, and he knew she wouldn't take it well. He hated upsetting her, but he was damned if Connie and Rabbit were going to be kept out of the loop. He also secretly hoped Connie would tear George Humboldt a new bodily orifice. He wasn't disappointed.

"God-DAMMIT!" She swore, shaking with anger. "Where the hell is he? I wanna talk to him! NOW!"

Tom Brander joined Sam at the top of the shaft, peering down into the gloom.

"Now, now, Connie … don't be like that. George, Clarence an' me … we're here to get you outta there," he said in as soothing a tone as he could manage. "Just let us haul you up an' then we can discuss the other thing … " His voice tailed away, unsure.

"Other THING, Tom? My Rabbit ain't a _thing_! You hear me? He is a _HE_ , as livin' an' breathin' as you are!"

"Connie!" Another voice echoed down the shaft. "Connie, we'll be sendin' down a rope an' sling soon, and all you gotta do is put it around your waist an' let us know you're ready. Then we'll have you outta there in a jiffy, all right?"

Connie's eyes widened.

"Is that you, George Humboldt?"

"Connie, you know it is. Now just listen – "

"Listen? _LISTEN_? Listen to _you_? Why the _hell_ should I listen to _you_?! You wanna let my boy die!"

She felt Rabbit's hand twitch where it lay against hers. She squeezed it gently, and laid her other hand on his head. She could feel him shivering, plates vibrating, and the wheeze that now came every time he inhaled made her heart lurch in her chest.

"My boy's sick an' hurt, George. He's comin' outta this hole, or I don't. I ain't leavin' him!"

She heard an exasperated sigh.

"Connie … Connie, it ain't no boy, you know that. I know, I know … you don't see many folk an' these robots turn up an' they're kinda entertainin,' but they're not human. Never were, never will be. It won't notice, Connie. It's just an object. It won't understand – "

"George?" Connie had had enough of being spoken to as though she was an addle-pated child.

"What?" Humboldt now sounded exasperated.

"If you don't haul both of us outta here, then you can take your goddamn rope an' your goddamn sling, an' shove both of 'em right where the sun don't shine. You hear me? _I'm stayin' put!_ "

She heard Humboldt stand up and turn away.

"Sonofab – "

"An' don't you cuss around me, George Humboldt! _OR_ around my boys!"

She grinned to herself despite her fury.

"Y-You … you told 'im, Miz Connie …" Rabbit coughed painfully and wheezed, trying desperately to catch his breath, but still Connie heard the laughter in his voice. "But … but you should get … get outta here, ya know." His tone now was quiet, resigned. "Th'Spine … he'll fig … figure out h-how ta get me … " Rabbit's voice faded. He didn't have the strength to say more.

Connie shook her head and soothed him as he lay shivering beside her.

"No, son," she said gently, "it'll be both of us or neither of us. Ain't leavin' ya. An' don't you argue with me on this. Remember what I said I'd do if ya argued with me again?"

She heard Rabbit make a noise in his voice box that could possibly have been a chuckle.

"Wh-Whack me … upsides the n-noggin with a … a skillet."

"Yep. Ya got it." She smiled. "But right now yer gonna have ta stand in line, sweetheart, 'cause I got George Humboldt in my sights, an' I got the best aim with a skillet you've ever seen."

* * *

Sam Luke had never felt so useless in his life.

He listened to the altercation between Joe and Humboldt, and then he had watched as Humboldt tried – unsuccessfully – to cajole Connie into getting out of the vast, deadly hole beneath them, and then storm off to his pickup.

But Connie, bless her, was holding out. She and Rabbit were staying put until Humboldt came to his senses. Although, Sam thought to himself, it was one of the most foolish things he had ever seen anyone do. Connie was putting her life at very real risk to save a rusting pile of copper plates and ancient cogs assembled into one of the most recalcitrant, truculent, hyperactive, petulant, irritating, endearing and protective beings he had ever known. And the more he thought about it, the more he loved Connie Dawson.

But right now he could do nothing to help. He had considered just taking Humboldt's keys to the RAM and taking the situation away from his control, but he knew in his heart that neither he nor Michael were in any shape to face up to Humboldt – he was a big man, all bulky muscle and bone. Joe was well into his sixties and although fit, could be seriously hurt if Humboldt decided to put up a fight.

Sam turned to Tom Brander.

"Mister Brander …"

Brander looked at the battered drummer, wincing in sympathy as he surveyed Sam's gashed head and strapped shoulder.

"It's Tom, son. Just call me Tom. An' this is Clarence."

Sam nodded his thanks, grimacing as the movement made his head hurt.

"Tom … is there any way we can try and convince him – "

Tom shook his head.

"George Humboldt is a law unto hisself. And he ain't one to change his mind once it's made up. If he hasta go down there an' get Connie he'll do it, just ta spite her. An' he'll leave … your … erm … your _friend_ down there without lookin' back."

"Rabbit," Sam said. "His name is Rabbit. And he's not just my friend – he's _family_."

Tom Brander looked at Ticonderoga, and they both stared at Sam for so long that he began to shift uncomfortably under their intense gaze.

Finally Clarence Ticonderoga pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"You really think that, dontcha?"

Sam nodded carefully, mindful of his hurt head.

"Yes sir, that I do. Rabbit's a pain in the butt. He's awkward, petty, bossy and drives me nuts. But he's also kind, protective and looks out for his family. He's lived for over a century, fought in two world wars and a police action, and did his best to save as many lives as he could. He loves to sing, entertain people, tease his brothers and feed ducks. He … he's frightened of storms. They remind him too much of gunfire. He has a habit of falling in love with toasters and writing love songs. And he loved the man who made him like a father." Sam swallowed noisily, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "And if all of that isn't worth saving, I don't know what is."

Clarence looked up at Tom and then turned back to Sam, his dark eyes wistful.

"Son, if we could do this without George, we would. But if someone somehow can change his mind, then we'll be happy to help you get … _Rabbit_ … outta that hole."

Sam smiled a soft, sweet smile and realised that the Walter robots had another couple of allies. Not very useful ones at this point in time, but allies were allies, no matter which way you looked at it.

"Thanks. Both of you. Now all we have to do is work on Mister Grouchy there," he added, looking at Humboldt who was busy attaching a length of rope to the RAM's integral winch system.

Tom Brander frowned and clapped Sam gently on his good shoulder.

"Good luck," he said.

* * *

Humboldt finished attaching the fifty-foot length of rope to the front fender winch, and pressed the winch button to wind the rope onto the cable barrel.

"George –"

Humboldt's shoulders hunched at the voice.

"Don't Joe … just … _don't_. I'm gonna get Connie outta there whether she likes it or not, even if I have to go down there an' put that damn' sling around her myself."

"George, look at me … dammit, George – _look at me_." Joe said hoarsely.

Humboldt sighed, and then turned to look back at Joe. The sadness in his eyes was almost too unbearable to see. Joe's eyes widened.

"Oh my lord," he whispered. "You love her, dontcha?"

Humboldt straightened, taking a deep steadying breath.

"For over thirty years. She's a good ten years older'n me, but that's never meant a thing. I loved her the first moment I set eyes on her, an' she's never looked at me with any kinda feelin.' An' now … an' now she's stuck in a hole with a metal thing that she calls one of her 'boys,' an' she met the whole bunch of 'em less than three days ago an' she loves 'em like they were her own." He shuddered with revulsion. "A metal robot with no heart an' no soul, an' she's willin' to die for it. How the hell d'you think that makes me feel, Joe? Huh?"

"Mister Humboldt?"

The deep voice interrupted Humboldt's quiet tirade, and he turned to see a very tall, dark-clad silver man standing in the mid-afternoon heat, fedora in place and his right hand pressed against his waist. Humboldt could see the dark stains around a taped up hole in this strange being's side, and from the way he was standing it was obvious that the metal robot was badly damaged. He realised that the artificial being had been standing there for a few minutes, taking in what had been going on. A big dog stood at the robot's side, watching silently.

Humboldt turned back to the winch.

"What the hell do you want?"

The Spine swayed slightly. Even standing still was an effort.

"What I want is a compromise," he said tiredly. "A simple, easy-to-understand compromise so that we can save our brother."

Humboldt carried on working on the winch.

"I don't need to do diddly-squat, freak. I'm gonna get Connie out an' get folks to the hospital so they can be taken care of. That's all I gotta do, and I don't see how a compromise is goin' to improve on that."

"All I ask is that you let us have a chain. One good, strong chain, long enough to reach Rabbit. That's what has stopped us getting him out of there until now – we didn't have anything strong enough to lift him. If we have a chain, we can get him out, even if we don't have a winch."

Humboldt ignored him.

The Spine tried again.

"Mister Humboldt … I'm very, very tired. I have a big hole in my side, I'm leaking oil and hydraulic fluid, and I have to take care of my brothers, because that's what I do. I could, of course, very easily take your pickup keys off you and save Rabbit. But I would have to hurt you to do it, and I don't like violence. I've had 116 years of violence to deal with in some way or another, and I hate it. So I'm asking you … just give us a chain and let us save our brother."

"George, if you hadn't've kicked up all kinds of stink over this, Rabbit and Connie would be outta that hole by now." Joe said, his voice betraying his anger. "For god's sake, man … for Connie … help us save _two_ lives instead of one. Don't hold Connie's not wantin' you against that boy down there. It ain't his fault."

Humboldt finally straightened and stood as still as a statue, looking at the circle of people and one robot, all looking at him with anxious eyes.

His gaze finally settled on The Spine.

"How're you gonna pull it outta there without my pickup or somethin' like it?" He asked sharply.

" _I'll_ pull _him_ out. Jon'll help. We're strong, Mister Humboldt. Very strong indeed." The Spine looked about ready to keel over.

"SPINE!" The Jon appeared from behind the remains of the motel rooms, having left Pie resting quietly beside a small patch of Connie's garden. He was followed by Michael and young Walt Redaya, the boy wary and unhappy. "SPINE! YOU'RE AWAKE!"

The Jon got to his brother just in time. The Spine's knees buckled and The Jon caught him as he fell, cradling him in strong arms. The Spine's head lolled back on The Jon's shoulder, and Michael dropped to his knees beside the tall automaton.

"Damn … he's just pushed himself too far. He shouldn't even be awake," Michael muttered, checking his friend.

"M'okay …" The Spine whispered. "Just … just give me a minute … just a bit dizzy is all …"

George Humboldt stared at The Spine and The Jon. He saw the big dog settle beside The Jon, sniffing and making soft concerned noises. He saw the sympathy and concern on the faces of Tom Brander and Clarence Ticonderoga … and he saw Walt run to his grandfather and hug him tight, Joe's face set with anger and disappointment.

"Aw … HELL!" he growled. "Tom?"

Tom Brander blinked. "Yeah?"

"Could you go check the best place to put the pickup? An' can somebody find a strong length of metal to keep the chain away from the sides of the shaft?"

"Uh … yeah. Right on it!" Tom grinned.

"Joe?"

"Yeah, George?" Joe felt a flare of hope.

"Can you give me a hand to change out this rope for a chain on the winch? We got a robot to get out of a big goddamn hole."

An irate voice from a very unhappy S.O.U.N.D. engineer drifted through the air from the direction of the makeshift shelter.

"Will someone _please_ tell me just _what the hell is going on_?"

TBC

* * *

**Author's Note:**

1 Reference to the poem _The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner_ by Randall Jarrell, published in 1945. It is about the death of a gunner in a Sperry ball turret in a B-17 Flying Fortress.

 _From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,_  
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.  
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,  
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.  
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

A ball turret is a plexiglass sphere set into the underbelly of a B-17 Flying Fortress or a B-24. It is armed with two 50-calibre Browning machine guns and manned by a single gunner. The turret could be rotated to fire at enemy fighters. The most common turret was manufactured by Sperry, hence the name.


	21. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Twenty-One

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

"C-Cold … so cold …" Rabbit muttered to himself, curled tight against Connie, plates shivering uncontrollably . "Used … used ta get cold … trenches … mud in m-my joints … rats … rats in the blankets … lice runnin' … runnin' under m'plates … Th-Th-Th'Jon don't like lice … got in his optics … drove … drove Th'Spine crazy at night … Th'Jon clickin' an' clickin' … a-an' clickin' … trying ta … ta get 'em out." He coughed, the congestion in his bellows making his voice raspy and painful to hear. "The lice n-never stayed for … for long though … r-robots ain't got any … any blood ta suck."

Connie rubbed his shoulder in sympathy, privately horrified at what 'her boys' had gone through in their long lives. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it had been like in the trenches in 1917. But she moved her hand to lie on his chest, trying to comfort him, feeling the heat of his straining boiler through his vest and shirt.

"I'm sorry, boy. I know ya  _feel_  cold. I wish I could make ya feel better. If we're goin' ta be down here much longer, I'll ask Sam to send a blanket down. Would that help?"

But Rabbit didn't seem to hear her. He was caught in thoughts of times long past, needing to talk, the memories coming strong and fast.

"Wh-When we stood down … Th'Jon … he, uh, h-he … used ta run off … n-not A-A.W.O.L., ya understand ... we … we always knew where … where ta find'm … " Rabbit tried to take a good breath and failed, wheezing, struggling to inflate a bellows gradually filling with fluid. "He … he used ta go a-an' help … help with the b-battery horses … ya know … the ones that p-pulled the gun carriages …"

Connie nodded. "Yeah son, I understand."

Rabbit coughed and continued.

"F-Found a dyin' horse once … Th'Jon … he s-sat with'm f-for … the longest time … by the s-side 'a the road … n-no one would help … h-he uh, he c-couldn't stand it no more … kept a-askin' for s-someone to put the horse outta … o-outta its misery … Th'Spine did it, finally." Rabbit's optics closed at the painful memory. "Jon … he, uh … he didn't speak f-for … for weeks after that. No-nobody but Th' Spine an' I knew … knew he could h-hear the horse screamin'."

"Oh, dear lord … oh sweetie ... " Connie said under her breath. She heard Rabbit give the tiniest of sad sighs, and she rubbed his chest, trying to make him understand he was loved and cared for.

"Sorry, Miz Connie … s-sure don't mean to … to upset ya," he whispered.

Connie felt him shift in discomfort.

"That's okay, sweet pea. If ya need to talk, you just go ahead an' talk. I'm guessin' ya don't do that very often when it comes to wartime stuff."

Rabbit tried to snuggle closer, and quieted when Connie laid her hand on his head.

"N-Never. We, uh, w-we … don't talk about the first war. The  _G-Great_  War, they … they call it. Th'Jon … he'd get all upset … an' … an Spine … he'd just go all quiet. H-Hide away. We didn't … didn't even talk to Pappy.  _Couldn't_  talk. Too h-hard. So we don't … d-don't mention it.  _Ever_."

"An' you fought in two more wars after that one. I can't even  _begin_  to imagine what y'all went through." Connie laid her head on the rubble wall behind her, a deep, abiding ache in her heart for her boys. Her precious, broken boys. "Rabbit, honey, just remember ol' Connie is always here for ya.  _All_ of ya, if you need to talk. I know pain. Pain an' me … we're old friends, so I understand more'n most."

Rabbit gave that little, sad sigh once more.

"Hurts," he said.

Connie didn't know whether he was talking about the physical 'pain' he was enduring or the deep-rooted horrors he had witnessed in his long life. She decided it didn't matter - pain was pain, and she patted his chest tenderly.

"I know, sweetheart … I know."

Rabbit curled a little more into himself, and the two of them lapsed into silence, waiting quietly for whatever was to come.

"CONNIE! YOU AWAKE?"

The voice echoing down the shaft made her jump, disturbing Rabbit whose whole chassis tic'd noisily.

Connie strained her neck sideways and looked up to the shaft entrance to be greeted by the grinning face of Sam Luke.

"Sam? What's goin' on?"

"You and Rabbit'd better get ready – we're just settin' everythin' up and we'll be getting you outta there." He paused, savouring the moment. " _Both_  of you."

Connie's heart leaped with joy.

"What? Sam honey, you mean it?"

If Sam grinned any wider, Connie thought, his head would split in two.

"Yeah, Connie. You  _and_  Rabbit."

"Wha … how …?"

"We'll tell ya later," he chuckled, the relief washing through him. "We've got some work to do to try and make it as safe as we can for you, and it'll be about an hour. Then we're sendin' down a harness."

Connie thought quickly.

"Sam, it'll have to be Rabbit first, all right? He … he'll need a lot of help. He's … he's not doin' too good. He needs to get to Michael as quickly as possible."

"N-No … Miz Connie, you … you first …" Rabbit whispered.

"Shhhh, son … rest easy. You let ol' Connie take care of this, okay? Don't you argue, y'hear?" She added, feeling Rabbit take a shallow breath ready to protest. "You first, sweetie. Ya can't deal with the harness on yer own … ya need help there, boy. It's the only way."

"Oh … o-okay. Sure … sure ..." Rabbit reached up with an unsteady hand and Connie caught it in her own, squeezing gently.

She smiled up at Sam.

"Whenever you're ready, Sam. We're waitin'. Just don't take too long, will ya?"

"We won't Connie, I promise. Just hang on. Just …  _hang on_."

And in a moment, he was gone.

* * *

It took a little over an hour to get everything in place and the winch set up.

Tom Brander and The Jon had hunted around for a strong length of metal and found a seven-foot-long section of the heavy-duty steel support that had held Connie's gas station sign and exterior lighting. Brander had been astounded as The Jon carefully pulled the 8-inch-thick tube of metal out of the rubble and hauled it over to the shaft entrance. Brander hadn't even been able to lift the thing.

The little robot had carefully stripped out what was left of the electrical wires within the tube and carefully placed it over the widest, most central part of the shaft entrance. Several bulky pieces of cement were gently laid over each end to hopefully keep the heavy tube from shifting sideways as Rabbit and Connie were lifted to freedom.

George Humboldt was as good as his word. After discussions with Michael and Steve (who was relieved to be finally kept in the loop) about how to move Rabbit with as little discomfort as possible, he went back to his pickup and dug around in his cache of ropes and chains. He selected a wire rope that would take the weight of Rabbit's chassis while negating the difficulty of pulling heavy chain links over a steel tube, thus reducing the risk of the tube working its way free of the blocks of concrete holding it in place. The whole procedure had to be as easy and as resistance-free as possible, not only for safety's sake but also to reduce the amount of 'pain' the whole thing would undoubtedly cause to Rabbit.

After loading the winch barrel with the rope, Humboldt used a steel shackle to attach an industrial-strength sling harness to the thimble eye on the end. He thought about it for a few more seconds, and then added two more loops onto the shackle, longer ones this time, with a spring clip on each end. As Rabbit and Connie were hauled up the shaft, these added loops around each thigh at the hip would give them more support and balance – and Rabbit needed all the support he could get.

With the winch set up and ready to go, now came the delicate bit – driving the RAM as close as possible to the shaft entrance without destabilising the rubble around them. The last thing they wanted was a cave-in.

It was a painfully slow process. Clarence, with thirty years of towing and automotive repair under his belt, was painstakingly precise. Inch by inch, he guided Humboldt into position and then Tom Brander and The Jon blocked the front wheels with more concrete chunks to prevent the vehicle sliding forward while the winch was in use.

In just over an hour everything was in place. They were ready.

The Spine could do nothing to help. He had recovered his senses somewhat, and after a brief (and pointless) argument with Michael was allowed to sit quietly on a large block well out of the way, as he had flatly refused to return to the makeshift shelter. He needed to be there when Rabbit came back to them.

Michael sat beside him, his own invalid status forcing him to sit on the sidelines.

Blue positioned himself between them, head on The Spine's knee, watching everything that was going on while also making sure that his two charges behaved themselves.

The Jon flitted from place to place, doing what he could or doing as he was told, and even George Humboldt was impressed by the slender automaton's attention to detail and tireless efforts.

He had begun by only speaking to The Jon through Joe or Sam, but that became tiresome, so he then began addressing The Jon directly with a "Hey, you!" or "get your metal butt over there an' stay outta the way!" Twenty minutes later it was "Dammit, tin boy, move that block!", and fifteen minutes after that it was "You! Jon! Get over here an' hold tight on the other end of this rope." The Jon answered him at every turn with knowing smiles, guileless blue optics, and "Yeah, Mister Humboldt – sure! Be right there!"

Sam watched the progression of The Jon from 'thing' to a living being with a quiet knowing smile.

"Yep," he said to himself. "Happens every time."

With the RAM in place and the wire rope set up, Joe lifted the sling harness and looked at the humans and automatons watching him. He took a deep, decisive breath.

"Okay. Here we go …" He knelt beside the shaft entrance and called down to Connie and Rabbit.

"Rope comin' down, Connie! Take your time, girl. Don't rush it. We can wait."

Sitting in the gloom below, Connie smiled and patted Rabbit's chest.

"Well, here we go, son. Ya ready?"

Rabbit tic'd and nodded. He was trembling.

"H-Have … have ta be, Miz Connie. Ain't … ain't, uh, ain't gonna happen … if 'm' not, huh."

She rubbed her thumb gently against the green patina of his brow, comforting him, knowing what kind of ordeal was ahead of him. She heard Joe feeding the harness over the tube resting across the entrance, keeping the rope central and away from the edges of the shaft. There was the sound of an engine starting, and then the electronic hum of the winch beginning to snake out its load, Joe guiding the rope's drop down the shaft and making sure it didn't snag.

Before long the harness swung into view and Connie managed to reach out and grasp it tightly, pulling it towards her.

At last they were both within reach of freedom.

The winch paused, and Joe's voice echoed down the shaft.

"Ya got it, Connie?"

"Yep! Can you give me a couple more feet? I need the slack," she called out.

Within seconds the winch hummed and the rope slackened into a loop, resting on the ledge beside Connie.

She looked down at the copper automaton lying beside her. He was in terrible shape, and she wondered if he could even survive the twenty-foot journey to the surface.  _Nope_ , she thought,  _I ain't even goin' there. My boy will make it. He_ has _ta make it_.

"Rabbit, honey?"

"Yah-huh?" he muttered weakly.

"C'mon, sweetie – we gotta get your backside outta here. Let's get this harness on ya an' then you can see your brothers."

"O-Okay …"

Connie sorted out the various loops and studied the harness.

"Damn," she finally said. Shifting sideways, she eased Rabbit's head from her lap and onto the ledge and twisted around as well as she could to look him in the face. Mismatched optics studied her wearily. "Hon, I think we gotta get you sittin' up," she said apologetically.

Rabbit blinked a couple of times, surprised, and then without questioning her reasoning, he began to try and shift himself up onto the elbow of his good arm. But before he could do much Connie rested her hand on his cheek vents, stopping him.

"Wait a minute, boy – let me explain what I'm thinkin' so's you understand. We need to get this sling around your chest, an' you're too heavy for me to shift while yer lyin' down. I … I can't –"

"Th-That's okay, Miz Connie," Rabbit wheezed. "I ain't e-exactly … lightweight …"

"Alrighty then," Connie said, "just let me get these loops around your legs an' then we'll get ya upright an' get this harness fixed for ya." She hesitated for a moment and then continued. "It's … it's how we put the sling around your chest that worries me. I, uh … I didn't want it pressin' on that rod, son. I think I can keep it clear at the front, but at the back … with your shoulder bein' all bust up the sling'll be restin' just below the place where that damn' thing sticks outta your back. There ain't no way I can stop it. Along with the loops around your legs, it'll help stop you slippin' outta the sling, but it'll hurt like hell." Connie cupped Rabbit's face in her hands. "You've been through enough, son … an' I'm gonna ask you to take more hurtin.' Think you can do it?"

Rabbit coughed and smiled.

"O-Oh, sure… sure I can, Miz Connie. Don't … don't you, uh … w-worry about lil' ol' me."

Connie shook her head, tsk'ing to herself. He was incorrigible.

For twenty minutes they worked on getting Rabbit's legs into the loops. It was his bad hip that let him down, especially since he was lying on it. It took a lot of wriggling, lifting, cajoling, silent cussing (on Connie's part) and frequent breaks ( with the requisite amount of hugs) to let Rabbit catch his breath and deal with the 'pain' before both loops were in place and ready to clip back onto the shackle.

Now they came to the  _really_  difficult part.

"Okay son, here we go – we gotta get you sittin' up. Ya ready?"

"Uh … no, b-but I … I gotta." Rabbit blinked out of sync for a moment or two.

Connie dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"I know, sweetie. An' you're gonna have to do most of it 'cause I can't lift ya."

"M-Miz Connie … I'll push … you, uh, y-you pull. We c'n do it."

And that's exactly what they did. It was stressful, difficult and desperately dangerous. The tiny space where Rabbit lay was overhanging a sheer drop into nothingness, and the slightest slip could have fatal consequences. Using his elbow and then his good hand, Rabbit slowly, painfully slowly, managed to lever himself upright. Connie couldn't do any more than try and keep him balanced, but in the end Rabbit sat upright for the first time since the earthquake, leaning gingerly on his bad shoulder against the wall of the ledge. He gave Connie an exhausted but triumphant grin, mismatched optics flickering with delight amid the dirt and dust marring his copper curlicues and green oxidation. He was shivering feverishly, his bellows would hardly inflate and his chest and back hurt like hell, but he didn't care. He and Connie were getting out of this damned hole and at last he would be back with his family. He rested his head on the rubble wall beside him and closed his optics for a few minutes.

While Rabbit gathered what little energy he had left, Connie tried to figure out how she was going to arrange the sling around his chest without causing any more hurt than she needed to. After a few minutes, she made her decision.

"We need to unstrap that arm of yours," she declared.

"Uh … o-okay," Rabbit whispered, optics still closed. "W-Whatever … whatever ya say, Miz Connie."

Connie eased the buckle open and loosened the belt holding Rabbit's useless left arm to his chest, wincing guiltily as she heard the faint hiss of 'pain' from him as she did so. Unhitching the harness, she eased it under his arms and around his chest, fastened it back onto the shackle, and then she very carefully strapped the arm across Rabbit's chest once more, effectively trapping the harness between arm and torso. Although it didn't press on the rod protruding from his chest, it was resting just below the three inches of steel sticking out of his back. It was going to twist terribly in his damaged chassis and cruelly press against his interior workings, but it couldn't be helped.

Her final job was to attach the loops around his legs to the shackle. It was done. Rabbit couldn't fall out of the sling even if he wanted to, she decided.

"Well, boy, it's time. Let's getcha outta here an' back to your family, shall we?"

Rabbit's optics opened and he gave her his endearingly lopsided smile.

"Y-Your family too …" he said.

Connie smiled back.

"My boys," she whispered tearily. Her nose chose that particular moment to get snivelly, and she wiped it on her sleeve. "Sorry," she added, embarrassed.

"Th-That's okay," Rabbit said. "Ya just, uh … just gots a-a dose… of the snots. That's wh-what sleeves're for."

Connie chuckled amid the tears and patted his arm. Clearing her throat, she peered upwards.

"Joe? Rabbit's ready. Take it real slow, will ya? He's goin' to haveta swing free an' it's gonna hurt, so be easy on him."

Joe's voice when he answered was nothing but understanding and care.

"Will do, Connie. We'll take it as slow as we can."

The sound of the winch starting up drifted down the shaft and within a minute the slack on the wire rope was almost taken up. Connie gave Rabbit the tightest, most loving hug she could muster, and his good arm wrapped around her, his head dropping into the hollow of her neck. She felt a tiny puff of steam from his cheek vent.

"M'scared," he breathed, his voice a soft warm billow against her collarbone.

"Me too," Connie replied. "But you an' me … we'll be okay. I promise. I'll see you up top in a little while, son."

She felt him nod, and then he was being eased out of her arms, the strong rope gently pulling him off the ledge. She let him go as Rabbit finally slid off the ledge in a shower of dirt and small concrete fragments, swinging sideways to hang over a dark and foreboding abyss. She heard his grunt of 'pain' at the pressure of the sling on his damaged shoulder and the rod pressing upwards in his chassis. Rabbit shifted his grip to hold onto the rope and his head rested on the shackle, his optics tightly shut.

As the winch began to pull him slowly up the shaft, Connie sat back on the ledge and watched anxiously as Rabbit was lifted, inch by inch, to sunlight and safety.

She also realised that once this nightmare was over and her boys were well enough, they would be going home. She had no home. She had nothing. She would be alone again. And there wasn't a damn' thing she could do about it.

* * *

"Robot comin' up!" called out Tom Brander.

He had joined Joe at the shaft entrance, helping his friend make sure that the rope didn't shift as it travelled over the heavy tube stretched over the hole. He peered down into the gloom and saw the human shape swing free over the blackness.

Both the heavy steel tube and the rope held, bearing Rabbit's weight easily.

"Son? Rabbit? Ya hear me?" Joe called out softly.

"Y-Yeah …" The voice was weak but clear.

"Try an' keep your elbows tucked in if you can. The shaft's still pretty narrow, and we don't want anythin' to stop you gettin' out of there, okay?"

"Uh-huh …"

Tom looked at Joe, his eyes full of wonder.

"He sounds pretty damn human to me, Joe." He took a breath and watched The Spine for a second or two, the tall automaton's face full of strain and fear for his brother. "I'm sorry."

Joe glanced for a second at Brander.

"What for?"

Tom indicated The Jon, standing a few yards away with Walt Redaya, the young Apache's hand on The Jon's shoulder, comforting him.

"That one … The Jon. Look at him, Joe. He's  _cryin_ ', for god's sake."

Joe nodded.

"Yep. Same as you would do if it was your brother that was trapped an' hurt."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I believed George. I believed these … these  _people_  weren't human. An' maybe technically they ain't. But they're more human than some humans I know." Tom shot a look of anger at George Humboldt, who sat at the wheel of his RAM. "He shouldn't have done it, Joe. An' I'm sorry I backed him up. I was wrong."

Joe smiled grimly.

"Well, let's just make sure this boy gets outta here alive. Because if he don't Connie's goin' to have our hides."

Tom Brander grinned.

"Hell," he said, "ain't that the truth!"

* * *

The Spine had never been so scared in his life. He sat as still as a statue, optics glued to the shaft entrance. Rabbit would be free any minute now … he would be back with his family, safe and sound. But he couldn't rid himself of the fear that something would happen to hurt Rabbit – even kill him. The oldest of the Walter automatons had, so far, been very lucky. Rabbit was badly damaged, but he had been hurt before and survived. But an earthquake … this was nature at its most violent, and nothing could be done to stop it. Until Rabbit was out of that hole and back with his family The Spine couldn't rest and he couldn't shake off the terror.

"It's tough, isn't it?" murmured Michael, sitting hunched over and nursing his ribs.

The Spine nodded, his optics still on the wire rope now threading slowly over the steel length at the top of the shaft.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's tough.  _More_  than tough." The Spine shifted slightly, wincing. "I've been looking out for Rabbit and The Jon for 116 years, and I don't think I've ever been so scared for either of 'em."

"Out of your control, huh."

The Spine thought about it for a moment and then nodded.

"I suppose so, if I'm honest. I've ended up being the one who does all of the 'Bad Big Brother' stuff. I've hauled their behinds out of trouble so many times I've lost count – and they've hauled my tin butt out of situations too." He sighed. "Rabbit saved my life back in '18, you know. I … I don't know if I could go on without him."

Michael smiled his sweet, wise smile.

"That's because you're brothers. That's what brothers do. They argue, fight, hang out, back each other up and watch out for one another. An' you guys have done that for an awfully long time – longer than anyone, I bet. So yeah … being scared. I gotcha."

The Spine snorted, and then wished he hadn't as agony bloomed in his side.

" _Dammit_ , that hurts …"

Blue's head suddenly shifted from The Spine's knee and the big dog tensed, ears pricked.

The Spine frowned, puzzled. He looked around but couldn't see anything that would disturb the animal.

Blue stood up and let out a series of roaring, chopping barks, his hackles bristling along the short, wiry hair of his back.

" _AFTERSHOCK_!" Steve Negrete's yell cut through the noise of the winch. " _GODDAMIT, AFTERSHOCK COMIN_ '!"

"Oh _god …_ " The Spine breathed in horror.

Before he could think about it, The Spine was on his feet and, holding onto his side, began to stagger as fast as he could towards the shaft entrance to try and save his brother.

* * *

Clarence Ticonderoga was watching the rope playing out from the drum head of the winch when he heard the barking and an unintelligible shout from the young man with the broken leg. He frowned and looked at George Humboldt, sitting behind the wheel of the RAM and keeping the rev level steady, concentrating on making sure of an even pull from the winch.

"George – "

Clarence didn't finish the sentence.

The ground shifted beneath them, heaving and rolling, and the RAM suddenly lurched sideways, making Clarence leap desperately to one side to avoid being crushed. He heard a yell of pain from Humboldt, and the RAM's left-side wheels slid into a newly-opened shallow trench. The engine stalled, and the rumble of the new aftershock was suddenly joined by the eerie whine of the winch drum rapidly playing out the wire rope as its power was cut.

* * *

Rabbit was becoming used to being suspended over a black, bottomless void. He opened one photo-receptor and studied the wall of the shaft as the rope slowly pulled him upwards. He took a chance and opened his other photo-receptor and looking up, he saw the entrance and the clear blue sky. He even felt a slight balmy breeze as it trickled gently down the shaft. He didn't look down. That made the meagre amount of water left in his boiler gurgle. He didn't like the look of it  _one little bit_. The thought of falling into that seemingly bottomless pit made him even less inclined to look down.

"Ick," he said to himself.

He tried not to take any notice of the 'pain' in his back and the pressure in his bellows, and he thought how nice it would be to see the sunlight and the faces of his family. He was thinking about how he would tell Pappy all about the earthquake and bein' trapped, an' Miz Connie who called him 'sweetheart' an' hugged him all the time, when the rope jerked and he was swung savagely sideways like a worm snagged on a hook.

The impact just about knocked him senseless. He yelped with 'pain' as the rod through his chassis twisted on impact, and the sides of the shaft began to shudder, the vibration running through his battered frame and internal workings. His optics dimmed as his neural circuits fritzed wildly. He was pelted with small – and some not-so-small – chunks of rubble, and he heard a roaring rumble.

Below him in the darkness he heard a terrified scream.

" _RABBIT!_ "

Kicking his good leg sideways he tried to stop the chaotic swing of the rope, pressing hard against the fragile sides of the shaft, and for a moment he succeeded, his boot planted firmly on a surface that was threatening to disintegrate before his optics. Taking the deepest breath he could, he croaked out a yell.

" _MIZ CONNIE! DON'T_  – "

But before he could say any more, the tension suddenly left the rope and he began to fall.

* * *

The Spine had just broken into a shaky run when the ground heaved upwards under his unsteady feet. He stumbled, dropping to his knees, and the 'pain' and the terror and the noise and  _Rabbit, don't die, not now, not when you're nearly free goddammit_  made his Blue matter core flare a brilliant cobalt in his chest.

_NO-NO-NO-NO-NO-_

This couldn't happen. He  _wouldn't allow it_.

And with a strength he didn't know he had, The Spine lurched to his feet, feeling the new drip of oil from his side and he didn't care, because his brother needed him, and he had to get hold of that damn' rope –

The Jon was suddenly beside him, running, running  _past_  him and the little 'bot reached out with his good hand to grasp the out-of-control rope. Brassold fingers grasped the wire strands and tightened even as The Jon fell to his knees and hung on.

He was jerked off-balance and pulled in an ungainly pile towards the shaft entrance, Rabbit's falling body being too much of a dead weight to allow The Jon to single-handedly stop the disaster unfolding before them.

The Spine was an ungainly tangle of limbs as he flung himself forward as hard as he could, reaching out, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the rope.

He caught it. Goddammit, he  _caught it_ , and long fingers wrapped around the rope, tightening, pulling, slowing the deadly fall into the darkness below.

And in a moment, a mere split-second, he had slewed his body sideways and slammed into a block of rubble, making him cry out in agony, but he hung on, and his tenacious grip on the rope never faltered.

Before he knew it, more bodies piled in behind him … Sam, his one good hand hanging on for dear life, and then Joe and Walt behind the injured drummer, and finally Tom Brander falling onto the rope behind all of them, using his body weight to help halt Rabbit's fatal descent into nothingness.

And all around them, the aftershock shuddered on and on.

* * *

Rabbit thought he was going to die. This time, he was sure of it, he would be nothing but a pile of useless metal somewhere deep, deep in the earth. He didn't know what was worse – the sudden, terrifying fall down the shaft, or the sudden, agonizing jerk as the rope somehow stopped its crazy journey downwards. Swinging in an uncontrolled arc over a gaping abyss certainly wasn't Rabbit's idea of fun, and he karoomed off the side of …  _something_.

Amid the ear-splitting noise filling the air and the billows of dirt and debris around him he heard another sound … it was Connie. She was screaming. Screaming his name.

" _RABBIT! OH GOD, RABBIT!"_

The rope twisted around and he saw her, clinging to the back wall of the little space beside the bottom of the shaft. He caught a glimpse of movement beside her, and he realised that the ledge was falling apart around her. Within seconds she would be gone … falling to her death in the blackness beneath.

" _CONNIE! Y-YA GOTTA JUMP_!" The effort made him cough harshly, but with a struggle he somehow suppressed it and yelled again. " _DON'T WORRY – I'LL CATCH YA_!"

He was a little above her, but he knew that as he swung closer, with a bit of luck he would manage to get her off the ledge before it disintegrated.

Connie saw him, and her eyes widened as she suddenly understood what Rabbit had said. She shook her head.  _No, no, she couldn't jump_  – she was frozen in place – completely and utterly terrified.

Rabbit decided he didn't have any time to waste – Connie  _had_  to get off that ledge. Marshalling what little strength he had, he let go of the rope with his good hand and waited for the rope to swing him closer to Connie.

* * *

The Spine lay on his side still jammed against the rubble block, his strong right hand clenched tightly around the wire rope that held his wounded brother dangling above certain death – Rabbit's fate should he let go.

He could hear The Jon scrambling to his feet and within seconds the little automaton was beside The Spine, grasping the rope a few inches behind his big brother's hand, helping to support him.

The aftershock rumbled on, not as violently, but lasting longer than any that had come before.

"Winch!" yelled The Spine.

Joe raised his head to see Michael making his way as quickly as he could over the shaking ground to the RAM, where Clarence was desperately trying to fix the winch and George Humboldt was sitting dazedly in the pickup, head bleeding from a cut above his eye where it had impacted on the steering wheel. Clarence looked up and waved at Joe, shaking his head. The winch was beyond repair.

"Broken!" Joe yelled back at The Spine. "We gotta pull!"

The Spine didn't have time to struggle upright. He had to do this  _now_.

"Jon – when I pull, I want you to take up the slack until I can shift my grip. Can you do that?" he yelled over the noise.

The Jon nodded. "Don't worry, silly! I'm  _SuperThe Jon_!"

"Okay then! The rest of you, follow Jon's lead!"

The Spine took a long and very painful breath, and began to pull.

* * *

_Closer … closer …_

Rabbit's whole chassis and internal workings were on fire, riven with agony and he whimpered with the 'pain' even as he flexed his hand ready for the most daring thing he had attempted in his long life.

Connie was almost moulded to the wall at the rear of the tiny recess, eyes round with terror. She was now silent – completely overtaken by fear.

" _MIZ CONNIE – GIVE ME YOUR HAND_!" Rabbit yelled as loudly as his failing voice would allow.

_Closer …_

Connie blinked. Her hand crept out towards Rabbit as he swung towards her. The deep vibration of the aftershock made her feel nauseated.

_Closer …_

" _I'M COMIN' TA GET YA_!" Rabbit bellowed weakly.

_Closer …_

Rabbit reached out his good hand as he swung almost to the edge of the ledge, and Connie willed herself to move towards him.

_Almost there …_

… and Rabbit was jerked upwards by the rope.

Connie had moved too far to stop. Even her slight weight was too much, and the ledge fell apart beneath her feet.

And she fell straight into Rabbit's grasp.

He had leaned over as far as the sling and the steel rod through his chassis would allow, and he caught Connie around the elbow, pulling hard and knowing he would leave bruises on her flesh. But right now he didn't care. He knew his Connie would forgive him, and using the weight of his legs to right himself, he used every bit of strength he had to pull her up and into his chest, feeling Connie's free arm wrap around his neck. Letting go of her elbow, Rabbit shifted his grip to around her waist, and Connie cried out in shock even as she wrapped her other arm around him. Tucking her head into Rabbit's shoulder she clung to him desperately, and he hunched over as best he could, sheltering her from the increasing fall of debris and rubble as it was shaken free by the aftershock.

Whoever was pulling them out of the shaft was working in fits and starts, and it hurt like hell, but Rabbit didn't mind. They were moving more quickly now, and the urgency of it all was almost exhilarating. A minute or two more and they would both be free!

They were almost three-quarters of the way up the shaft when a huge shift ran through the earth around them. The shaft finally gave up and caved in.

* * *

The Spine heard the shattering rumble, and The Jon yelled with fear even as he pulled the rope alongside his brother.

" _IT'S GONE! THE SHAFT'S GONE!"_

The Spine hesitated for a mere moment and then taking the deepest breath of his life and with 'pain' ripping through him like molten fire, he pulled as hard as he could, managing to place his feet against the concrete block and using his long legs as added leverage.

Letting out a feral yell of anger and fear, he felt the rope run free, and The Jon gathered up the slack behind him while he shifted his grip. Another long pull, and this time The Spine felt as though the rope was moving through treacle. On the third pull, the rope tightened, almost stopped and then it jerked free. The Spine collapsed beside The Jon, bellows working too hard to allow him to catch his breath.

"J-Jon … check … see what's happening … Rabbit … are they … are they trapped?"

The Jon dropped the rope and scrambled to his feet, needing to know if Rabbit and Connie were alive.

As the dust cleared and the rumbling aftershock died away, The Jon saw something lying on the ground in front of the remains of the shaft entrance. For a moment he couldn't quite make out what it was, and then he saw the red bandanna.

" _RABBIT! RABBIT_! Spine, it's Rabbit! And … and Connie too!"

The Spine struggled to his feet with the help of Sam and Joe, and followed The Jon's gaze.

"Oh. Oh thank god!"

The Jon lifted The Spine's arm to lie around his shoulder and the pair of them began to stumble across the ruined landscape to the two still figures lying on the ground. One of the figures moved. A retching cough was heard, and a slightly-built shape detached itself from the lax figure beside it, more dust and dirt than human. A head raised itself and looked around.

"Rabbit … Rabbit, son … we made it!  _We made it_!"

There was no answer. A long, metal arm slid from Connie's waist and dropped limply to the ground. Metal fingers twitched spasmodically, and then were still.

Connie looked down at Rabbit's face. His optics were closed and Connie touched his face tentatively.

"Rabbit? Rabbit! Oh …  _oh god_  …  _RABBIT_!"

TBC


	22. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Twenty-Two

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

Connie broke down completely. Kneeling beside the still body, she put her hand onto Rabbit's battered chest and wept.

"No … nononono … not my boy … my Rabbit … no son, ya can't leave me, not now … I need ya, sweetheart … my Rabbit … my precious boy … " Her voice was a soft, grief-stricken wail.

She felt Rabbit's chassis move and she looked up to see The Spine crumple into a sitting position beside her, Blue beside him, his face distraught as he very gently pulled his brother's limp frame against his chest. The Jon flung himself down on the other side of Rabbit and lifted his brother's hand, pressing it to his cheek, now streaked with oily tears.

"Rabbit? Rabbit, you _can't_ go! You're _not dead_! Ya _can't_ be! You're my _brother_!"

Sam, Tom and Joe stood by, helpless, shock written plainly on their faces. Walt crouched down beside The Jon, his young face twisted in pain.

"Jon?" he said quietly. "He … he's gone to the edge of the earth now. He has made his choice," he added enigmatically.

The Jon didn't appear to hear him as he keened softly in pain. Three brothers, together again once more. But only two would be left to carry on. The Spine dropped his head and tightened his hold on Rabbit, the copper robot's head cradled on his shoulder.

"Did you get 'em?" Steve Negrete was frantic as he yelled from his place in the shelter. "Somebody, let me know what the hell's goin' on! Are they safe? Did you get 'em out?"

"Joe …" The Spine murmured, his deep voice a broken rumble.

"Yeah son?"

"Could … uh … would you mind checking on Steve and … and …" The Spine couldn't continue.

Joe rested a hand on The Spine's good shoulder, and then placed it on Rabbit's head as if in benediction.

"I will. I'll take care of it."

Sam sank down beside The Jon. He could hear nothing from Rabbit's chassis – no soft clicks and whirrs, no gentle whoosh of bellows … nothing. Rabbit, for the first time in his life, was completely silent.

"Oh God …"

Michael Reed was suddenly kneeling beside them, looking down at Rabbit. Connie rocked gently beside the oldest of the Walter automatons, one hand over her face and the other on Rabbit's still chest.

Behind Michael stood George Humboldt and Clarence Ticonderoga, Humboldt holding a cloth to his head to stem the bleeding from the small cut above his eye. They watched as Michael carefully knelt down beside Rabbit, reaching to unbutton his vest and shirt.

Clarence moved slightly as if to try and help, but Humboldt stopped him, his free hand on Clarence's arm.

"Don't bother."

Clarence looked at him, puzzled.

"What? Why?"

"It's broke. The thing's broke an' it can't be fixed. It's not human, Clarence. It's kinda sad, I know, an' it saved Connie, but it was just programmed that way. Just like the other two. I know, I know – the little one was pretty good at doin' as it was told, but none of 'em are alive, Clarence. How can somethin' that ain't alive even die?"

Clarence's dark, expressive eyes grew round with shock and then narrowed in anger.

"George … that boy … _all_ of those boys … are one helluva lot more human than _you_ are right now. An' if I can help 'em … _any_ of 'em … I will."

He looked away from Humboldt in disgust and took a step forward to see if there was anything he could do – and walked right into Connie Dawson. She was on her feet now, young Walt Redaya beside her, supporting her as she tried to put weight on her twisted ankle.

She was covered in dust and dirt, her face streaked with tears and her red-rimmed grey eyes dark with grief and anger.

"Get outta my way, Clarence," she said, her voice deadly soft.

"Now, Connie – " Clarence said placatingly, hands held up, trying to calm the situation.

"Don't you 'Now, Connie' me, Clarence Ticonderoga," she growled, "… an' Get. Out. Of My. Goddamn'. _WAY_."

Clarence Ticonderoga got out of her way.

With Walt's help, Connie limped forward until she was standing only a foot away from George Humboldt.

"You killed my boy," she said quietly, looking the big, burly man straight in the eye.

Humboldt sighed in irritation.

"Connie, you know as well as I do there wasn't nothin' to kill. It's a thing … not a human – "

Connie was shaking now, the anger consuming her.

"You _killed my boy_ ," she repeated, the muscles jumping along her lean jaw. "If you hadn't've refused to help us, he'd be alive right now. We woulda been outta that hole before the aftershock hit us. My Rabbit's dead because a' you, George Humboldt. You murdered him as certain as if you'd stuck him with a knife." Her eyes were as cold and as sharp as flint. "You _murdered my boy, you sonofab_ – "

"CONNIE!" Michael's voice ripped through the confrontation like a razor. " _CONNIE_! I need you – _Rabbit_ needs you!"

Connie blinked, suddenly confused.

"What?"

She heard a flurry of activity behind her, and turned to see Michael looking at her with blazing blue eyes. He had the plate in Rabbit's chest open and she saw … _something_.

"Michael? What's happ – "

"His core, Connie! Rabbit's Blue Matter core! It's still working – not particularly well, but …" Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath, " … but he's not dead."

Connie shook her head as if to clear it.

"No … no, that's not … how … how can that be?"

"I told ya he wasn't dead!" The Jon's azure optics glowed with hope.

The Spine rested his head on top of Rabbit's and held him tight.

"Hang on in there, buddy … just _hang on_."

Michael gestured to Connie.

"I need you to help me, Connie. Spine and Sam aren't able to work with only one arm each and The Jon … well, I've put him on hand-holding duty. I need you to pass me my tools and help in any way you can." He looked down at Rabbit, who still looked pretty dead, despite Michael's declaration. "Can somebody please tell me why you guys, after 116 years, never bother to check out an' see what's going on in Rabbit's insides? Why do you always assume the worst and expect me to make miracles and fix everything from an oil leak to a rainy day?"

The Jon frowned through his tears.

"B-Because you're a Reed. Reeds fix stuff. We can't fix stuff, an' we don't need to because we have a Michael."

Michael shook his head and wiped away his own tears with the heel of his hand.

"I don't know what's wrong – it could be anything from a major systems failure to a fritzy connection from a bang on the head. I need my tool kit – "

"I'll get it," Clarence answered, a smile beginning on his face. "Where – "

Michael gestured to the makeshift shelter.

"Over with Steve. Thanks Mister Ticonderoga – "

"That's Clarence, son."

Michael smiled for the first time in what felt like years instead of hours.

"Thanks … Clarence."

Connie had almost collapsed, only prevented from doing so by Walt Redaya, who held on tightly to her arm. Connie leaned on him, her hand over her mouth, unable to speak.

He wasn't dead. Her boy _wasn't dead_. And Michael would fix him, because Michael _could_ work miracles.

Connie looked up at George Humboldt, who had been watching the scene unfold with cold, hurt eyes. She took a deep, shaky breath, gathering her wits.

"I gotta go take care of Rabbit now, George. An' I know that if he has even the tiniest of chances, my boy'll make it. He'll make it because he's tough, an' brave, an' … an' … kind, an' funny an' – " she paused for a moment, and another tear trickled down her face. "An' more human than you'll _ever_ be."

And with that, she hauled back her fist and punched George Humboldt as hard as she could squarely on the nose.

The big man let out a yelp of pure agony and staggered back, blood streaming from his nose and trickling between his fingers as he tried to stop the flow.

Connie watched him for a moment, and turning gingerly on her heel, she let Walt help her back to sit beside Rabbit and his family. As Walt settled her beside Michael, she shook her hand to get rid of the sting and sucked at the knuckles, one of which was already swelling.

Michael looked at her sternly.

"Connie, I need that hand. Are you gonna be okay?"

Connie nodded.

"I'll be fine. It's bruised is all." She studied her knuckles ruefully. "Mind you, it hurts like hell. But," she continued, giving Michael a swift grin, "It was worth it."

Michael leaned over and gave Connie a small kiss on the cheek.

"Are you ready? I need you to talk me through what happened to Rabbit and we'll try and find out what's what."

For the next few minutes Michael and Connie went through everything, Connie recounting how Rabbit came to be injured and the sequence of events. As she spoke, Michael carefully checked Rabbit's internal workings and was astounded that the copper robot had even lasted this long. He was so desperately hurt, and Michael had no idea if he could repair his friend. But there was the constant feeble glow of Rabbit's Blue Matter core, and he couldn't deny that it gave him some sort of hope that Rabbit might just come back to them.

He had initially thought of lying Rabbit flat on the ground so that he would have more light to work by, but the steel bar sticking out of Rabbit's back prevented that. The Spine would not relinquish his gentle grip of his brother anyway, so Michael just had to work with it.

Sam stepped in and sat on the other side of The Spine, and with Walt's help, they gently removed the sling from Rabbit's body. They released the belt strapping Rabbit's arm to his chassis and once that was done, Michael had easier access to the chest plate. They were about to remove the other belts supporting the steel rod when Michael stopped them.

"No, leave them!" he said hurriedly. "They're keeping the rod in place, and from what I can see …" he swallowed, the fear rife in his voice, "it's sealing leaks and keeping Rabbit from bleeding out. But I can't … I can't do anything about it until I get him someplace with the equipment to remove it without killing him."

Clarence returned from retrieving Michael's tool kit and laid the big box beside the mechanic.

Connie looked up at him, brow furrowed.

"How's Steve? I been worried ta death about him."

"Better now that he knows Rabbit has a chance. Joe's stayin' with him – he's pretty upset."

Connie smiled her thanks.

"I gotta go see him as soon as Rabbit's doin' better. So we'll get to it, Michael – I gotta look after the rest of ya after my Rabbit's fixed."

She looked around at her boys.

It was the first time she had seen most of them clearly since the earthquake. Michael and Sam were battered, hurting and exhausted. Lines of grief and pain marred their features, and she could see Sam shaking. Connie reached over Rabbit's limp body, resting her bruised hand on his chest as though her touch alone could heal him, and placed the palm of her other hand on the side of Sam's face, wordlessly comforting him, something for which Sam was incredibly grateful. Connie had a way of making the pain easier to bear.

And then there was The Spine and The Jon.

The slender brassold automaton clutched Rabbit's hand, regardless of his own injury, and Connie touched the wrapping around The Jon's hand.

"Oh sweetie … your poor hand …"

The Jon gave her a wobbly smile.

"I'm okay, Miss Connie. Honest. Michael can fix me up later."

Connie nodded silently.

The Spine still sat with Rabbit tenderly held against his chest, but Connie could see the terrible injury in his side.

"Spine? Spine, honey?" The tall robot didn't answer, his head still lowered over his brother's. Connie tried again. "Spine? Why don't you let Walt take care of Rabbit? You're hurtin,' son, and you're bleedin' an' you're just about done in. Let us look after Rabbit, an' you get some rest. I can't face thinkin' I might lose you too, boy."

The Spine raised his head slightly to look back at Connie, green optics dull with 'pain' and worry.

"He's … he's my brother, Connie. My big brother. I've put up with him for … for 116 years, and I have every intention of having him around for another 116. I'll … I'll hold him."

Connie put her hand on Rabbit's bandanna'd head, lying seemingly lifeless against The Spine's shoulder.

"He drives ya nuts, huh."

The Spine gave his tired one-sided smile.

"He sure does. And I'm glad of it."

Connie nodded, understanding. She patted him on the shoulder in support.

She glanced at Michael, now muttering to himself as he checked out Rabbit's circuitry in his chest. Behind her she could hear George Humboldt, moaning quietly, and Clarence telling him that if he ever mentioned to anyone that Connie was the one who had hit him, then he would deny all knowledge – and anyway, who would believe that a ninety-eight-pound woman in her late sixties and with a gammy leg could floor a burly two-hundred-and-sixty-pound man in his fifties.

Humboldt cursed under his breath but told Clarence he was all right.

Connie turned back to the matter in hand – saving her Rabbit, and taking care of her boys.

The Spine was tiring quickly. His good arm was bearing all of Rabbit's weight and he was struggling to hold his brother's chassis. His fingers slipped slightly and Rabbit's head rolled gently to one side before The Spine could adjust his grip.

"Oh God, Spine! Your shoulder's bleeding!" Connie gasped.

The Spine frowned in confusion. Looking down he saw a sodden stain of oil on his shirt front.

"What? No … m' not hurt there – "

Connie very carefully lifted Rabbit's head to see more clearly and her hands were instantly covered in oil.

"Michael! It's not Spine! It's Rabbit! He's hurt his head!"

A second later Michael was easing Rabbit's red bandanna from his head and he swore. Loudly.

"He's got one helluva dent there, Connie." He grimaced. "All the while I thought it was in his chassis - I've been lookin' in the wrong damn' place! We couldn't see it because of the bandanna – he must have got a bang on the head just as the shaft collapsed."

Connie looked at Rabbit, his optics shuttered and lifeless as Michael gently examined the back of Rabbit's head which was slowly leaking oil.

"Can you fix him?" Walt asked, his black eyes wide with concern.

"I … I have no idea," Michael replied, desperation rife in his voice. "Spine, we have to turn him on his side so I can get a closer look – I can't do much for him lying the way he is." His voice softened. "You can let him go now, Spine … we got him."

The Spine looked at The Jon and Michael, and then at Connie, who nodded encouragement. Then he loosened his grip on Rabbit's limp body and allowed Michael, Walt and Tom Brander to ease Rabbit onto his side beside his two brothers. Walt took off his jacket and placed it almost reverently beneath Rabbit's head.

The Spine began to sag sideways, and just as the tall automaton had supported Rabbit, The Jon, in one fluid move, scooted over Rabbit's lax body and caught his older brother as The Spine struggled to stay upright.

"I'm … I'm making a habit of falling apart, huh. Sorry, Jon," he whispered.

"S'all right, The Spine," The Jon whispered back. "You can catch me next time I fall over."

The Spine smiled fleetingly and then set his optics on Michael as the young mechanic got to work trying to find and fix the damage in Rabbit's head.

All of the Walter automatons had small access plates in their heads and Rabbit's was located just above the dent that was causing all of the trouble.

In the end, it took Michael all of forty-seven seconds to isolate the problem.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" Michael looked up, a look of disbelief on his face. "Connie, can you pass me a pair of wire strippers and those little pliers? Oh, and some insulation tape."

Mystified, Connie rummaged in Michael's tool kit and handed over the small, delicate tools and the tape.

"What? What is it? Is he gonna be okay? How bad is it? Can you repair whatever it is? What's the problem? " Connie was jittery with fear.

Michael didn't answer her for a moment or two as he carefully assessed the damage in Rabbit's head, and in seconds he had snipped a piece of wire and then set to work with the wire strippers.

"Damn, this is tricky," he said to himself rather than anyone else. "Connie, can you cut me off a few inches of the insulation tape?"

Connie did so and handed the short length of tape to Michael, who fiddled about inside the cavity, oil staining his fingers. Connie wordlessly handed him a rag which Michael used to clean up the spill.

Everyone waited with bated breath.

"Well?" Clarence finally said.

Michael looked around at everyone and saw faces strained with worry coupled with anticipation.

"You're not going to believe this, but it's down to a single neural circuit and the tiniest oil line I've ever seen."

Everyone looked at everyone else. Michael took a deep breath and continued.

"The ding he took as he was pulled out of the shaft split the oil line and badly damaged the neural circuit lying beside it. I've fixed the oil line temporarily. Well, at least it isn't leaking anymore and it's clean and free-flowing. The neural circuit, though … as far as I can tell, it's the one that controls reboots. It was badly crushed, and … well … in short, Rabbit was knocked out. He shut down, and until it's repaired he can't boot up."

"So … you can repair it? Or … or replace it?" Connie asked, still fearful and worried.

"Well … I can simply strip it out and replace it, and then he can boot up. That's not a problem." He paused for a moment and when he spoke again his tone was low and quiet. "What I'm worried about is that his whole system is so damaged he might not be physically able to do so. His bellows … it's sloshing with fluid and I don't even know if he can use the thing. He had broken oil and hydraulic lines all over the place – and I gotta say, Connie, you did an amazing job patching them up – and some of his internal circuits are … _not good_. That rod has just about pulled him apart inside." Michael was sombre.

"Can you fix him, son?"

Connie's lips trembled as tears threatened once more.

Michael thought about it and then nodded.

"I think so. I thought about leaving him like this until we got somewhere with decent equipment that would give me the chance for more extensive repairs … but I'm too scared to do that. I don't want to leave it too long. It might be hours yet. And," he added sombrely, "… I gotta say … I'd feel uncomfortable making that decision without Rabbit's say-so. I don't think he'd ever forgive me."

"He wouldn't. You know how he is, Michael." The Spine flinched as he took a deep breath, and The Jon made little shushing noises, trying to stop his big brother from exerting himself too much. "I know he'd rather wake up sooner rather than later – even though the stubborn fool needs to power down," he added a little bitterly. Rabbit's propensity for stubbornness was fuelled by decisions that had been made for him by previous Walters and by the military. He didn't like decisions being made for him, and his brothers backed him up. "If you can get him back on line, we'd appreciate it." The Spine gave a small tic of his head – as much of a nod as he could manage.

Michael smiled.

"I have to say it'll be easier to find the problems and fix 'em if he can tell me how he feels and where it hurts – although I can guess a lot if it at this point. _Damn_ , but he's beat up … okay, here goes …"

It took him less than five minutes to strip out the circuit and replace it with a spare from his tool kit. Then he closed the access plate, found Rabbit's reset switch and pressed it.

Nothing happened.

Connie became fraught, and clutched The Spine's good hand for support. She felt him squeeze her fingers gently.

"Michael … Michael, he's not – "

There was an audible 'click'.

Rabbit's chassis thrummed faintly, and his optics flickered.

There was a general murmur of hope within the little group.

"So far, so good …" Michael bit his lip.

Connie rested her other hand on Rabbit's shoulder.

"C'mon, hon … wake up, now. Your brothers're worried about ya. We're _all_ worried about ya."

And deep within his chassis was the tell-tale 'shift', something Connie had felt the first time she had met Rabbit, a mere two days ago. It felt as though it had been a lifetime ago … 'way back in a time that held promise and love and the discovery of a new family.

A soft whirr began, and a painful wheeze came from deep within Rabbit's wounded chest. His optics brightened and within seconds one of them opened slowly, shining blue in the shadow cast by The Spine beside him. The other followed a second later, blinking green, and Rabbit's hand tic'd spasmodically. A wrenching, painful cough came next, a small trickle of oil coming from the copper robot's mouth. Michael carefully wiped it away with a clean rag.

There was a huge, collective sigh of relief from humans and robots alike.

The Spine took a deep and very painful breath.

"Easy there, champ. You're safe. Just … just take your time, okay?"

"N-Not … not in tha … in tha hole?" The voice that answered him was a soft, rasping croak, but The Spine couldn't care less. He grinned.

"No, buddy – you're not in the hole. You're safe and sound, here with all of us."

"Miz … Miz Connie … safe?"

"I'm here, sweetie … I'm here. We made it. Thank god – an' thanks to you."

Connie's nose let her down again and she began to snivel.

"Use … uh … you c'n use your s-s-sleeve …" Rabbit said.

Connie smiled through her tears and used her sleeve to wipe her nose.

"E-Everybody … h-hunky-dory?" Rabbit tried to turn his head to see everyone and failed miserably, but it made Michael's day to see his friend move.

"Yeah, Rabbit – we'll all live. And as soon as the rescue chopper gets here to take Steve and Sam to the hospital, we'll be gettin' out of here and find someplace where I can fix you up. You and Spine." Michael tried to be as upbeat as he could.

Rabbit moved weakly in alarm.

"Th-Spine … you … y-you're hurt?"

"Easy now, cowboy … I …I'm okay. Or I will be. Michael can patch me up and I'll be fine. Just … just _fine_."

The Jon leaned a little so that Rabbit could see him with his arms still around The Spine, keeping him supported.

"I _said_ you weren't dead, Rabbit. 'Cause you're my brother. An' you're a hero 'cause you rescued Miss Connie."

Rabbit looked at The Jon, seeing the joy on the little golden robot's face, and gave him the ghost of a wide grin.

"I was just … just like Luke S-S-Skywalker … rescuin' Princess Leia."

The Jon's face lit up.

"AWESOME! Oh, an' I'm gettin' a cape from Saint Pappers Claus with 'SuperTheJon' on it, 'cause I saved Sam from certain death!"

Rabbit glanced at Sam.

"Y-Yeah?"

Sam grinned, cradling his bad shoulder.

"Yep. He sure did."

"Spine?"

"Yeah, Rabbit?"

"C'n I … I have a c-cape too?"

"Oh, for cryin' … cryin' out loud … here we go …" The Spine sighed, loving the familiar banter and settling happily back into 'straight man' mode, "Michael – any chance of switching him off again?"

The humour broke the last of the tension.

"God, Rabbit … it's good to see you! We've been kinda worried about you for a while now!" breathed Sam, his face rife with emotion.

There was a soft whine beside The Jon, and Blue gently pushed his way through the bodies arranged around this new person. He was intrigued, and snuffled at Rabbit whose optics clicked with surprise. His 'pain' was forgotten for a moment as Blue gazed curiously at him.

Michael was about to push Blue gently out of the way, but Rabbit gave a tiny hesitant smile.

"Spine?"

The Spine sighed again. He knew what was coming.

"No."

"B-But Spi – "

"Rabbit, you … you can't keep him. He belongs … belongs to Joe."

"But – "

"Forget it."

"I looooves doggies – "

"No. Y-You don't. So don't even go there."

"S-Spoilsport." Rabbit pouted.

"Get over it."

Blue washed Rabbit's face, leaving a layer of drool on his cheek vents. There was a painful giggle.

"Tickles …"

"Typical," groused Sam, "first The Spine, now Rabbit. Damn' dog has a robot thing goin' on."

"Rabbit, honey …" Connie loved hearing her boys sound less stressed, but she had something to do.

Rabbit turned weary optics to look at her.

"Yes'm?"

"Son, I'm gonna go see Steve. I'm guessin' he's had a tough time worryin' an' not bein' able to help out. An' I want to take a look at his leg, so you just be still an' rest easy, an' let Michael take care of ya. Oh, an' before you ask, I'll be back with your hug as soon as I can, y'hear?"

"Promise?" Rabbit sounded bereft.

Connie smiled down at him and moved her hand from his shoulder to his head, soothing him. She had almost lost him several times over the past two days, and here he was, gazing back at her, battered and hurt, but alive.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I promise. An' lots of hugs for all of my boys."

"Uh … me … me first …"

"Always, you know that," She smiled.

"THEN ME!" crowed The Jon.

"I promise, sweet pea."

"Connie …" The Spine didn't have to say any more.

"I'm savin' _two_ for you, son. I got hugs for all of ya." With Walt and Tom's help, she stood up. "I won't be too long. But I gotta go see my Steve. Put his mind at rest."

"Don't worry, Connie – we'll take good care of Rabbit," Sam said.

Leaning over, she dropped a kiss on Sam's head and then Michael's.

"My boys," she whispered. "My precious boys."

* * *

Steve Negrete was not doing so well, Connie discovered. Joe was hunkered down beside the engineer, talking to him quietly, but Steve was still agitated. He had been utterly delighted and relieved to see her, but she was shocked at how ill he looked.

He was terribly pale and his face was drawn with fever. He was obviously in great pain, and Connie could see that he was trembling. His hands clutched at the comforter spasmodically, fingers tense with stress.

But his brown eyes lit up when he saw Connie, his mobile face wreathed in smiles.

"CONNIE! Oh thank god you're all right! Rabbit? Tell me how Rabbit's doin'! Is he okay? Is he awake? Joe told me he … he …"

He ran out of words and swallowed, trying to control his emotions.

Walt helped Connie settle down beside him, and without saying anything, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Steve. She held him close, silently giving him all of the love and comfort she could. His bandanna'd head rested under her chin and Steve's strong arms encircled her waist, hanging on as though his life depended on it.

There was a fierceness and loyalty in Steve Negrete that reminded her so much of Dan Malone. He had withstood terrible pain and illness and had tried his damnedest not only to help his friends, but also to save Rabbit's life with his work on their only hacksaw – without that, both of them would be dead.

"He's alive, son … he's pretty sick an' hurt, but with luck Michael will be able to fix him up when we get back to Takoya." She loosened her hold and leaned back to look at him. Steve's face was lined with pain. "Oh, sweetie – I can't think what we would have done without you. I can't …" her face crumpled. "I can't thank you enough."

Steve reached out with one hand, tilted her chin up and smiled at her, one eyebrow raised in that daredevil expression she loved so much.

"I just wish I coulda done more, Connie. But I feel much better knowin' you're both alive an' kickin.' Figuratively speakin'," he added ruefully, and then sneezed.

Connie sniffed back her tears and nodded.

"O-Okay, then." She gave him a little smile in return. "Sweetie, I'm gonna have a look at your leg, okay? You got a temperature?"

"A little bit. I think it's the 'flu though, not the leg." His smile faded into a grimace. "Please god, let it not be the leg …" he added under his breath.

Connie shifted around and undid the dressing over the open fracture. She winced in sympathy.

"It's … it's …"

Joe blanched when he saw the massive bruising and bloody bone.

"Jeez …"

Walt just looked away, suddenly pale.

Steve bit his lip.

"Pretty bad, huh."

Connie nodded. She wasn't going to lie to him.

"Yeah, son, it's bad. But it's not infected, which is way beyond good. I gotta tell ya … this is goin' to take a while to heal and get right, you know that. You'll probably need the bone pinned and you won't be up on your feet for some time. Get used to the idea of elbow crutches, son."

Steve brightened hopefully.

"I'm not goin' to lose the leg?"

Connie looked at him steadily.

"Steve, honey – I'm not goin' ta guarantee you won't. But there's no infection and coupled with the fact you're young, fit an' healthy – those factors're all in your favour. Ya know the docs'll only consider that as the very last resort."

Steve swallowed, but nodded, understanding.

"The rescue chopper's on its way, an' you'll be in the hospital within an hour once you're picked up. Sam's comin' with ya, an' we'll all get there as soon as we get everyone else fixed up, okay?"

Steve nodded. It was going to be an ordeal, but he'd deal with it. With his friends and family around him, he would cope.

Don't worry, son," Joe interjected. "I'll bring your family in to see you. My place is only forty-five minutes from the hospital. Everyone'll be there, all right? They'll be close."

Connie's eyebrows hitched.

"Your place? On the rez?"

Joe grinned.

"Sure, I got plenty of room. After my Lizbeth died, I had the place to myself. The boys had all left home by then, an' I didn't want to move. So y'all can stay with me. Is that okay?"

Connie and Steve looked at one another.

"Yeah. Yeah Joe, that would be wonderful." Connie smiled, wonder in her eyes. "Thank you."

Walt grinned with delight.

"That's so cool, Grandfather! I want to introduce Jon to everyone!"

"Then it's decided – everyone back to my place."

They were interrupted by a series of frenzied barks from Blue, who ran to the perimeter of Connie's holding.

Steve and Joe tensed.

"Oh no – "

But there was no sign of an aftershock.

The sunset was beginning to send hints of gold and pink across the cloudless sky, and through the chopping bays of Blue's alarm came the _WHOP-WHOP-WHOP_ of a helicopter, the noise echoing through the early evening sunlight.

TBC


	23. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Twenty-Three

** CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE **

The search and rescue air ambulance landed on a level piece of ground just outside Connie’s home, just as George Humboldt and Tom Brander managed between them to get the RAM out of its precarious position in the trench that had opened up beside them during the last aftershock.

Tom’s jeep was stronger than it looked as it gently pulled the big pickup out of the trench, and after a quick check the RAM was declared undamaged and ready to drive back through the surrounding hills to Takoya and Clarence’s automotive shop.

The big Agusta helicopter disgorged three flight medics, a large, portable medical kit and a stretcher, and they trotted forward, carrying their gear, bent over in the down-draft.

Walt helped Connie to her feet and she waved at the medics.

“Over here! Priority patient!”

The lead medic, a short, slender woman in her early thirties with ash-blonde hair, looked confused for a moment, glancing from the group gathered around a fallen body to Connie, now waving frantically.

“C’mon, girl – git over here! We got an open fracture an’ possible cracked pelvis!”

The female medic hesitated for one moment more, and then made a decision.

“Okay guys – let’s go!”

The three medics headed over to Connie, carrying the all-terrain stretcher between two of them. The lead medic reached them first, dumping the medical kit and kneeling down beside Steve, who was shifting in pain, dark eyes apprehensive. He reached out to clasp Connie’s hand. Connie eased herself back down to sit beside him.

“Hi,” said the medic. “My name’s Alice. I’m gonna check you over, okay?” She smiled at Steve, trying to reassure him. Clasping Steve’s other hand, she gently pinched the skin on the back, seeing how it ‘tented.’

“Okay, my friend … you’re pretty dehydrated. I’ll run an IV and get some fluid in you, and then we’ll give you a thorough going-over. What’s your name?”  
“Steve … Steve Negrete. Ow!” Steve winced as Alice found a vein in his wrist and inserted a cannula. She taped it to his wrist and began to set up a saline drip. Alice grimaced apologetically.

“Yeah … cannuli aren’t fun, I know. Sorry about that.” As she carried out her task, she looked up at Connie. “Nurse, huh?”

Connie felt Steve’s fingers twitch in pain, and she squeezed his hand, letting him know how loved he was.

“Yeah. Retired now, though. You guys could run rings around me. I’m damn’ glad you’re here, I can tell ya!”

“You got one helluva bruised hand there, ma’am,” said the taller of the two male medics, a big African-American with a shaved head and a friendly grin.

Connie smiled ruefully. “Yeah. Nothin’ broken though. It just connected with somethin’ hard is all.”

“The ‘somethin’ hard’ came off worse, I reckon,” the other medic said, a stocky young man with innocent blue eyes, although the shrewd look on his face said that he guessed how Connie had come by the swollen knuckles. “Anybody needin’ an ice-pack?”

Connie shook her head.

“Nope. He got what he deserved. A coupla black eyes an’ a sore nose, but nothin’ that you fellers need worry about.”

The medics all grinned.

“My name’s Les,” said the African-American, “and this is Jake” he added, indicating the younger medic. “Okay ma’am, who else needs us? Alice and Jake can take care of Steve here, so I can assess any other injuries in the group. You got someone down over there?” He indicated the group gathered around Rabbit. “I, uh … I have to ask … do you have any fatalities?”

Connie shook her head.

“No, thank god. We got a dislocated shoulder that’s already been reduced, but it needs lookin’ at, an’ one of my other boys has a few broke ribs. Everybody else needs a mechanic, not a doctor.”

The three medics looked at each other, confused. Alice was busy unbinding the makeshift splints and bandaging around Steve’s leg, but Connie’s enigmatic comment made her stop for a moment.

“Um … mechanic? I … I don’t understand – “

Steve grinned even as the agony shot through him as Alice carefully assessed the damage to his leg.

“Robots,” he ground out. “They … they’re robots …  _ohhhh jeez_  …”

Les quirked his mouth, not understanding.

“Robots? You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

Joe shook his head.

“Robots, son. That’s exactly who they are.”

“They’re a band,” added Walt, settling himself down beside Connie in case she needed him. “They come from San Diego. They’ve been around for, like, a hundred years!”

Alice’s head suddenly jerked up and she stared at Walt.

“Not … not Steam Powered Giraffe??”

Steve nodded, hissing as Alice went back to gently probing the swelling around the open fracture.

“Yeah – that’s us,” he rasped. The pain was bad.  _Very_  bad.

“Oh my God!” Alice shook her head. “I saw you all live last year on the Queen Mary! My kids are huge fans! It was fantastic, and we all had a blast! Are they okay??”

Steve felt Connie’s hand shake, and he gentled her by rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. He saw the tears fill her eyes.

“My boys … all of you … so hurt …” Connie was beginning to allow the stress to get a hold, now that everyone was safe and the end of this nightmare was in sight.

Steve clumsily reached over with his other hand, the one heavily taped around the cannula attached to the IV line, and wiped a teary trickle from her cheek.

“Hey girl, now don’t you worry about Rabbit and Spine. We’ve got the best damn’ robot mechanic there is. Michael will get them all fixed up as soon as they get back to Takoya, you know that. An’ we’ll all survive. Sam, an’ Michael an’ me … we’ll be fine. I promise.”

Connie’s lip trembled a little, but she gave the S.O.U.N.D. Engineer a watery smile.

“I … I know, Steve honey. I’m just a little shaky is all.”

Jake studied her, concerned.

“Ma’am … are you okay? I think you’re maybe a little shocky – “

Connie shook her head.

“Don’t you give me no mind, son … I’m fine. Just tired an’ glad to be outta that damn’ hole. An’ … an’ so glad everybody’s alive. An’ …” she added, squeezing Steve’s fingers between her own, “an’ my dadblasted ankle hurts!”

Les gave her a sympathetic grin.

“Let me have a look there …” he said, reaching out to check out Connie’s swollen ankle, but she waved him away.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, son. Go look after everyone else – it’s just a mild sprain is all. I’m worried about Sam an’ Michael, so please … go check on ‘em. Make sure they ain’t too badly hurt. I gotta stay here with my boy. Make sure he’s tended to.” She now held Steve’s hand in both of her own as he lay back, teeth bared in pain as Alice began to dress the fracture to keep it clean before supporting the battered limb with an emergency splint.

“Jake, we got a Grade II open fracture, and I need a Betadine wound dressing and 1.5g of cefuroxime stat.” She turned to Steve. “Okay, you’ve got a nasty break there, but I’ve seen worse. The other break’s clean, as far as I can tell, and should heal well enough. I’m starting you on some prophylactic antibiotics which should help prevent infection until the docs can take a look. You’ll be going into surgery, but don’t worry – the orthopaedic surgeon’s one of the best.”

Steve nodded wordlessly, biting his lip against the pain.

“Any allergies?” When Steve shook his head, Alice continued. “Good.  I’ll give you something for the pain after I’ve run all the usual checks.” She took the syringe of antibiotics and inserted it in the cannula. She then checked his temperature and blood pressure. A frown appeared on her face. “Hmmm … 101.4 … quite a fever you’ve got there … I couldn’t see any infection in the leg but – “

“Okay,” Steve rasped, shivering. “I got the ‘flu,” he added by way of explanation.

Alice grinned.

“That’ll do it every time. Right – let’s give you something for the pain while I get your leg supported. As for your pelvis … do you have any pain in your hip or groin? Tingling in your legs or lower body? Any abdominal pain?”

Connie looked up at Joe as Alice set to work.

“Everything’s okay, Joe, isn’t it? Everybody’s going to be fine, I know it.”

Joe hunkered down beside her, one hand on Steve’s arm, supporting the young engineer, and his free arm went around Connie’s shoulders. He gave her a gentle hug.

“Yeah, Connie. Everything’s going to be fine.” His black eyes were warm and gentle. “It’s over. Everyone’s alive, and Michael will get Rabbit and The Spine well again. I know it. We’re safe. At long last. We’re  _all_  safe.”

Connie took a deep breath, and let go. Burying her face in Joe’s shoulder, she wept until she had no more tears to give.

Joe held her tight, his old shirt damp with salty tears, and knew then, in a moment of profound clarity, that he loved her more than life itself. And, he feared, he had no more chance of earning Connie’s love than the spurned and desperately sad George Humboldt.

So he held her, and loved her, and never said a word.

* * *

The Jon was trying very hard to stay still.

He was settled onto his scraped knees with The Spine cradled in his arms, his big brother now beginning to relax against The Jon’s slight frame. He was heavy, so very heavy, but to The Jon the titanium automaton was a burden he carried willingly.

He could feel the tremors running through The Spine’s frame, and he could also feel the wetness of oil against his leg as The Spine bled, very slowly but surely, from the injury to his side. The Spine’s fedora’d head lay against The Jon’s shoulder, and his long legs lay stretched out on the dusty ground. The Jon knew his brother had no more to give. If another aftershock came, the tall automaton wouldn’t be able to do a thing.

The Spine’s head moved slightly.

“M’ tired, Jon. So tired …”

“I know, Spine. Don’t worry. You just rest now. Let  _me_  look out for you an’ Rabbit.  _I’ll_  be Big Brother for a little bit, okay?”

The Spine smiled and nodded almost imperceptibly.

“O-Okay. But don’t … don’t let Rabbit be a pest, Jon. You know … know how he is …”

“H-H-Hey now!” The faint voice was indignant. “I … I gots feelin’s, ya know!”

Rabbit lay on his side beside his brothers, head still on Walt’s jacket, knowing The Spine had his good hand resting on his shoulder, letting him know his brothers were with him. He could also feel Sam’s hand on his boot, and Michael was still checking out his limbs and joints for further damage. All of them felt the need for touch, for connection … to reaffirm that they were all alive. All together again.  _Whole_. They knew Steve was now being cared-for and that he would reach medical help very soon, and although he wasn’t beside them, the invisible cord of family reached out and enveloped him.

The Spine’s electronic synapses fired memories of another moment like this, although it was a very different scenario.

Images of a cellar-like room, dark, forbidding and held safe by a formidable metal door flooded his thoughts. He could have taken the door apart given time, but The Spine recalled being unable to do a damn’ thing about it. This time it was his own body lying helpless on a damp and filthy dirt floor, his head cradled in The Jon’s lap and Rabbit trying desperately to stop the oil and hydraulic fluid oozing from damage caused by carbide blades and saws … his limbs and chassis hacked indiscriminately in an attempt to study what lay beneath. The violation - for that is what it had been - was systematic and unhurried. He had been butchered … slowly, methodically and mercilessly. And he had felt every cut and probe of their old surgical instruments, for his dissectors had wanted to check the tiniest reaction the silver automaton made to their work.

 He wasn’t in pieces, but he was horrifically damaged. Rabbit had muttered and sworn and worked tirelessly, despite his own injuries, to keep his brother alive.

His chassis twitched at the memory, and he gave a soft moan of distress.

Rabbit shifted painfully, sensing that something was wrong.

“Th’Spine?” he said breathlessly, a cough starting up.

The Spine squeezed his brother’s shoulder carefully.

“Just … just a bad memory. I’m glad … glad the wireless is down.”

Rabbit thought for a moment, and then understood.

“Huh. Viet … Vietnam, right?”

The Spine hesitated, but nodded to himself.

“Yeah.”

Rabbit flinched as Michael assessed the damage to his back and shoulder, the mechanic murmuring a soft apology as he worked.

“B-bad times,” the copper automaton agreed.

“I don’t want ta think about it,” The Jon said, the pain of the memories upsetting his koi.

 “Me neither,” The Spine said, a shiver of revulsion running through his chassis. The Jon gave his older brother a gentle hug.

All three automatons fell silent, and Sam and Michael looked at one another for a moment. This was the first time they had ever heard the robots speak even tenuously about their experiences in Vietnam – in fact, The Jon’s mention of the young Cree crewman who had died in the B-17 during World War Two was the first mention by the robots of  _any_  conflict in which they had been involved.

Michael had heard from his father about the condition of the robots when they had returned from Vietnam but he had never asked them about their experiences. He had quickly realised how traumatised they were when a thunderstorm had raged above Walter Manor when he was a boy. It took Mister Reed and his young son all that night and most of the following day to find Rabbit and The Jon. They were sitting huddled together like frightened animals, shivering and clanking, tucked into a big cupboard in the deepest basement they could find, away from the noise and the lightning. The Jon was tight against Rabbit’s chest, and the copper ‘bot held his brother in a vice-like grip, optics blinking out of sync, joints seizing and chassis shaking with terror.

Mister Reed had sat beside them for hours, just talking quietly and letting them calm down in their own time. All The Jon would say was “It hurts, Rabbit!!  They’re coming!! I’M SCARED!!” Rabbit stayed silent, but he held onto his brother for the longest time. Michael had sat beside his father for the many hours it took to calm his friends.

The Spine had swiftly retired to the Hall of Wires, detached his spine from its chassis and disappeared into the medusa of wires and cables above him, QWERTY skittering around the cavernous room in distress and uttering disjointed warning messages to anyone who came close. No-one saw The Spine for days.

When Mister Reed had mentioned his concerns to Peter Walter V, he was told to let the automatons be – they always got over it. Michael’s father wasn’t happy with the decision, as he knew the three robots needed some kind of help, but he did as he was told. Michael had watched his father worry and fret over the situation, but in the end the robots were left alone to deal with their fears.

Michael had never mentioned the incident to anyone. He had understood very quickly that these isolated moments of horror and fear had something to do with their war experiences, and thunderstorms, with their noise and turmoil and flashes of electrical blue light and cracking, stuttering barrage of sound, reminded them of terrible times. But he didn’t know how to help.

At that moment, Michael Reed vowed to try and find a way to aid his friends. He didn’t know how, but when they were healed and well again, he would try and figure something out.

“Hi there, folks – my name’s Les, and I need to have a look at a couple of you. Broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, right?”

Michael was disturbed in his reverie by the voice, a deep, rich, maple-syrup-warm tone that made him look up, startled.

The big medic smiled down at the group, although his dark eyes lingered on the three robots before him. Les laid his medical kit beside him and crouched down beside Sam.

“Now, my colleagues are working on Steve, so I’m here to check you two out. Anyone else need my help?” He gave The Jon a soft smile. “I’m told you other fellers already have someone to take care of you,” he said.

The Jon returned the smile, unable to tip his hat in greeting as he had to help support his brother.

“Yep. Michael’s like you – he helps make us better an’ fix stuff. He’s AWESOME.”

Michael gave a soft snort.

“I’m not doing the best job right now, Jon. I wish … I wish I had something to help that damned hole in Spine’s side. I’m running out of packing.”

Les began setting out his kit and gestured at Sam’s shoulder.

“Once I’ve seen to you two, I might be able to help out there. I have some medical packing I was going to throw out as it’s almost out of date and we’ve already replaced it, but if you guys can use it …” his voice tailed off expectantly.

Michael grinned, despite his exhaustion.

“Yeah, that would be great! It should hold him until we get to Takoya. Thanks, man.”

Les quirked an eyebrow as he began to check out Sam’s shoulder, the drummer screwing his eyes tight shut as Les began to unwrap the strapping around his torso. Without the support his shoulder was going to be very painful indeed.

“Takoya? I think you’ll be going to the hospital with us. We can just about fit you in – “ Les continued.

Michael shook his head.

“Nope. I’m heading back to town with Rabbit, Spine and The Jon. If I don’t … I … I don’t know if … “

Les gauged Michael’s stance. The young man was obviously very sore, and he was hunched to one side.

“You’re the broken ribs, right?”

Michael nodded.

“Yeah. The Jon says it’s three broken ribs, no other damage.”

Les’ eyebrow raised in surprise.

“The Jon?” he looked bewildered.

“That’s me,” chirped The Jon. “I uploaded medical programmes back in ’41 after Pearl Harbor.”

Les’ jaw dropped.

“You’re … you’re joking, right?” He looked from face to face, both robot and human. He saw nothing to indicate they were joking with him. Indeed, two of these metal men looked in poor condition.  Les shrugged. “Alright – I’ll check you out and see what I can do, but I can’t force you to come with us.”

Michael nodded.

“I’ll get a doc to look me over as soon as I’ve done what I need to do, I promise. The Jon can strap my ribs up again if need be.” His blue eyes gazed sombrely at the medic. “I can’t leave ‘em.” No-one else can help ‘em but me right now, and Rabbit wouldn’t make it home to San Diego unless I get him in some sort of decent shape. And I don’t think you guys would send out a chopper just to help two robots, huh. Humans first. And before you throw a hissy-fit, all of us understand that.” He smiled at Les. “You do what you gotta do, and take Sam with you. He needs you more’n I do, as he’s not in great shape, and he’ll keep Steve company until we can get everyone safe and fixed.”

Sam opened an eye and looked at his friend.

“You sure, dude? I can stay – “

Michael shook his head.

“Go, Sam. We need you to look out for Steve – you know how antsy he can be when he doesn’t know what’s going on. And I don’t care how macho he’s gonna be about this, I know he’ll be scared. His leg’s a mess,” Michael added quietly.

Les thought for a moment and sighed. He finished with Sam’s shoulder and then turned his attention to the nasty gash on the drummer’s head. He talked to Michael as he worked.

“Okay. If that’s what you want, then I’ll do what I can for you and get those ribs strapped up. We don’t normally do that these days, but if you’re going to have a rough ride overland in a pickup, then the support will help. I can give you some stronger meds to help with the pain, too. Just make sure you get checked out by a doc when you’re done fixin’ up everyone else.”

Michael grinned.

“You got it. And thanks. Thanks for everything,” he added as Les checked Sam over before irrigating the gash with saline and covering it with a fresh dressing. Sam looked pale and not a little shaky.

Rabbit shifted painfully and his optics gazed at the medic as Les gave Michael a hand to remove his t-shirt, the tall mechanic gasping as his broken ribs objected to the strain.

“H-helicopters,” he rasped, his good hand vaguely waving in the direction of the Agusta, now powered down and its rotors still and gleaming in the late afternoon light.

Les looked down at Rabbit curiously. He took in the copper curlicued features and the expressive face-plates, the mismatched optics blinking wearily in the light. His gaze moved to the steel rod that pierced this copper man’s chest, and the drenching stains of oil and hydraulic fluid on the remains of a neat vest and black shirt. The sheer thought of dealing with what must be dreadful pain – and he was now sure that these metal creations really  _did_  feel pain – made his stomach churn. Les Roberts had been a medic for eighteen years, and he had never seen pain and distress borne so stoically and with such acceptance. He gave Rabbit a gentle smile.

“Yeah. It’s an Agusta. It takes three medics and a pilot, plus all of our equipment. State-of-the-art stuff,” he added with no little pride. “You know about choppers?”

Rabbit shrugged and instantly regretted it as the rod shifted in his chassis and sent roaring throbs of agony through his neural circuits. He wished for a moment that Connie was with him. She would hug him and soothe him and coddle him and he could bear the ‘pain’ easier. But he bore it anyway and cocked a patina’d eyebrow.

“Yah-huh,” he ground out, waiting for the ‘pain’ to pass. “F-Flew … flew a Huey once. In, uh, i-in ‘Nam.”

The Spine grunted.

“You mean you  _crashed_  a Huey once in ‘Nam,” he snorted, and winced. Snorting - even in derision -  _hurt_.

Rabbit ignored the remark.

“Firefight … south … south of the DMZ … flak everywhere … took o-off the tail rotor …”

The Spine gave a shallow, painful sigh.

“Rabbit … the rotor hit a radio antenna on take-off and … and you crashed into a latrine. A  _full_  latrine. In 105-degree temperatures. In the  _jungle_.  In the  _monsoon season_. And guess who had to help you clean up the mess. Hmmmm???” The Spine raised a stern eyebrow. “And all … all because you decided you wanted to get into the chopper and play with all the pretty buttons and switches. You … you had  _no idea_  how to fly a helicopter.”

“Did,” Rabbit pouted. “They … they called m-me … Howling M-Mad Rabbit.”

“No, they didn’t,” said The Spine waspishly. “That’s from the A-Team TV show.”

Rabbit gave a sudden tired grin.

“W-Where d’ya … uh … where d’ya th-think they … they gots the idea?” he said triumphantly.

“Oh … y’know what? Never mind,” The Spine said resignedly, and relaxed even further into The Jon’s grasp, hurting mightily but loving the banter. The Jon cackled at the memory.

“Stinky robots,” he chortled.

Michael smiled to himself as Les finished taking care of his ribs. Just to hear the robots return to their arguing was music to his ears, and the fact that they were tentatively speaking about their wartime experiences, even in this light-hearted manner, told him that perhaps this present nightmare was enabling them to begin to deal with some of the painful times of their lives.

His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion behind him. A raised voice was heard, plaintive but loud, emanating from their makeshift shelter.

“I’m not leavin’ until I see everybody else!”

Steve Negrete was one unhappy S.O.U.N.D. engineer.

“Sorry, but we have to go – “ Jake the medic was trying to calmly convince Steve that he was being hauled into the chopper.

“Nope.” Steve was beginning to get antsy. “I gotta see my friends. See that they’re okay. See Rabbit. Connie, tell ‘em. I just gotta see ‘em before … before …” His voice began to waver, the emotion getting too much.

“Steve … sweetie … you gotta go. Your leg – “ Connie did her best, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Please, guys … just for a minute … I gotta make sure everyone’s okay – “ The pain medication was kicking in and Steve was becoming a little woozy, but he gamely carried on. “I haven’t seen Rabbit since before the ‘quake. I just … just want  _all_  of us to be together for a moment or two. Then I can rest easy.  _Please_!”

Connie couldn’t stand his distress.

She looked at Steve, now ensconced on the metal-framed stretcher with his leg in an emergency splint and bandages around the raw mess of his lower back. He was straining to sit up, despite the pain, and his moustachio’d face was sheened with perspiration. Connie put her hand on his chest to calm him, and he finally relented and collapsed back on the stretcher, lips pressed together in a thin line against the agony.

“Be still, son, please! You’re hurtin’ and you need to rest!” She turned anxious eyes to Alice and Jake. “He’s had a tough couple of days and he needs to be with his family, just for a minute or two. We’ll help, won’t we, Joe? Please!”

Joe nodded.

“Walt an’ me’ll give you a hand carryin’ him. It’ll put his mind at rest, an’ he’ll settle easier.”

Alice and Jake exchanged looks and relented.

“Okay. But we have to go in a few minutes, guys. We can’t linger. Steve needs to get to the hospital.”

Steve put a hand on Alice’s sleeve, and smiled, his eyes dark with pain.

“Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

Jake shook his head.

“ Alright, m’friend. But just for a moment or two, got it? You’re in pretty bad shape and every moment you hang around here the more likely an infection will set in, so make it quick.”

Steve’s grin made Connie’s heart lurch. What the heck  _was_  it about these boys of hers that made her soul sing?

Jake helped Walt and Joe to lift the stretcher, and they set off across the devastated landscape of what had been Connie’s home, IV line and bag of saline dangling from Walt’s hand. Tom Brander jogged over to help, and the four of them made their way over to the little group of humans and robots.

Connie watched them go, eager to follow and knowing Walt would return to help her gimp over to her boys, but Alice tapped her on the arm. Connie tore her gaze away from Steve and his entourage of helpers and looked at the medic.

“Yeah?” she asked, confused.

“Ma’am, I’m going to look at this ankle of yours now, and while I strap it up I want you to put this cold-pack on those knuckles.” Alice lifted out the little fluid-filled pack from her kit and broke the internal tube, the endothermic reaction cooling the contents rapidly. She held it out to Connie, who placed it on the bruised knuckles of her right hand.  As she began to attend to Connie’s swollen and sore ankle, she jutted her chin at Connie’s hand, now wrapped in the heavenly cool of the pack.

“Next time you punch someone, make sure you got one of those packs handy. It helps.”

Connie quirked a grin and then winced as Alice bound up her ankle.

“Yeah … well … I don’t make a habit of it, I gotta say,” she said.

Alice dug out her medical tape and began to fasten off the strapping. She hitched an eyebrow at the lone figure standing next to the pickup. She could see black eyes already beginning to form and swell, and the big man was holding a bloody rag to his nose.

“I take it he deserved it?”

Connie frowned, the anger once more beginning to rise.

“He wouldn’t help save my boy. Said he was a  _thing_. An ‘ _it_.’ My Rabbit ain’t no … no  _thing_. He’s saved my life more’n once over the past couple a’ days. An’ … an’ it took the rest of ‘em to make him save Rabbit. He’d a’ left him down that goddamn hole …” Connie’s voice tailed off, the emotion getting the better of her.

Alice finished off her work, and patted the bandage softly. She studied Connie closely.

“They mean a lot to you, huh.”

Connie raised her head high, pride and love in every movement.

“Yep. They mean a lot to me. A helluva lot. An’ George Humboldt couldn’t see the humanity in Rabbit, or The Spine or even Th’ Jon, and Jon helped him work on the winch an’ did everything he could to help. Can you imagine?? He  _just wouldn’t see it_. He said my boys had no feelin’s.” Connie swallowed back a sob. “Rabbit nearly died. George is a decent man, but … I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him for that.”

Alice listened silently.

Connie sniffled a little, and then gave Alice a weak smile.

“Without my boys …  _all_  of my boys … I wouldn’t be sittin’ here. I’d be at the bottom of a damn’ big hole in the ground, deader’n road-kill. I’m so proud of ‘em it hurts.”

The little medic grinned.

“Well, for what it’s worth I think they’re very proud of you too. You’ve been through a helluva lot, but if Steve is anything to go by, they love the crap out of you.”

Connie gave a delighted smile.

“Ya think?”

Alice nodded.

“Ohhhhh yeah,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

Connie studied the cool-pack on her hand, and beamed.

“My boys,” she said. “My precious, precious boys.”

* * *

The reunion was quiet but profound.

Steve was gently lowered to the ground beside his friends, hand reaching out, a murmur of relief on his lips. Other hands reached out to touch his … metal digits and human, clasping together in the bond of friendship and family.

“Good to see you, Rabbit. You look like crap, by the way,” Steve said, his eyes teary despite the lightness of his voice.

“H-Hey Steve,” Rabbit breathed, his voice rasping in ‘pain,’ “I’ve b-been better.”

The engineer studied his friends. Michael and Sam looked better now that they had been tidied up by the medical team and their injuries tended to, but they were exhausted and shaky with stress and pain. The robots … well, they were in the worst shape Steve had ever seen.

He knew if Rabbit had been human the steel rod through his chassis would have killed him instantly. He was in shocking condition. The automaton’s clothes were sodden with oil and hydraulic fluid, and Steve could barely see the copper visage beneath the dust and dirt. He could see dents in the bare head, and Rabbit was struggling to breathe. The wheeze and wet noise coming from his chest every time he inhaled made Steve, in pain with his own injuries, wince in sympathy. The copper robot was a shivering, sick wreck, coughing and flinching in agony, battered and bleeding. But Rabbit was smiling. A warm, beatific smile that made Steve grin in return. Rabbit was safe, and he was with his brothers.  _All_  of them, human and robot.

The Spine shifted in The Jon’s arms, optics blinking slowly. He felt another trickle of fluid from his wound.

“Steve … you should go. You have … have to get to the hospital. Get … get that leg looked-at.”

Steve nodded, feeling relieved and more settled than he had done for days. He had trauma and pain ahead of him, but he knew now that he would be fine. He would see everyone in due course, and Sam would be with him.

He took a deep breath.

“Okay. I guess I gotta go. You guys … be good, and go easy on Michael. He’s not in the best of shape, an’ he doesn’t need hassle. You listening, Rabbit?” Steve raised an eyebrow and glared at the automaton.

Rabbit had the grace to look affronted.

“Wh-Who,  _me_?” he whispered. “A-As if I would, uh, w-w-would do such … such a thing.”

Steve let a smile twitch the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. Right.” He shifted his gaze to The Jon. “You look after ‘em, Jon. Make sure they behave themselves.  _Both_  of ‘em. An’ get your hand looked at, m’friend. Don’t forget, now.”

The Jon grinned his beautiful grin. “I won’t! I’m Big Brother The Jon!”

Satisfied, Steve looked up at the medics.

“Okay. I guess I’m ready. Sam, let’s get going, huh.”

Joe and Walt helped the medics lift Steve and with a final wave of his hand to his friends, the engineer sank back onto the stretcher, giving himself up to the journey ahead of him. The short walk to the helicopter was over with after a couple of minutes, and then he was being loaded into the well-organised interior. But just before he was transferred to the narrow stretcher-space he reached out and grasped Joe’s arm, clutching it tightly. Joe looked down at him, puzzlement in his dark eyes.

“Yeah, son?”

Steve looked up at him.

“Ask her.”

Joe frowned, confused.

“What – “

“Connie.  _Ask her_.”

Joe was even more confused.

“I don’t – “

Steve’s eyes were intense and his face set with purpose.

“You love her. Ask her. She might just say yes.”

Joe’s eyes widened in shock.

“You … you know – “

Steve gave a sudden, flashing grin.

“Written all over your face every time you look at her, my man. So go for it. I have a feelin’ she feels the same way – she just don’t know it yet.”

Stunned, Joe just nodded. He didn’t know what to say.

Sam was about to be helped into the helicopter but he leaned close to Joe for a moment, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Steve’s right. Ask her. I think it’ll be worth it.”

And with that, the two members of Steam Powered Giraffe were gone as they disappeared inside the big helicopter and the doors closed.

Stepping back and away from the rotors as they powered up, Joe turned and looked at Walt, who was grinning like a loon. He pointed at his grandson, embarrassed.

“You. Don’t you say a word, y’hear me? To Connie or anyone else.  _Especially_  Connie!”

Walt held up his hands and backed away slightly, still grinning.

“Not a word, Grandfather! I promise!”

“Yeah … well … you’d better not,” Joe said, disgruntled. But the hope in his heart flared, took light and burned bright. He waved his grandson away and began to walk back to the pickup, the Agusta now beginning to lift off, the downdraft making Joe hold onto his hat.

Walt fell in beside him, walking just a step behind his grandfather. He couldn’t resist.

“Grandfather …”

“Yeah?” Joe grunted, trying to keep his mind off Connie.

“When are ya goin’ to ask her?”

Joe stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at his grandson.

“You’re an idiot. You know that, don’t you?”

Walt burst out laughing.

* * *

As the air ambulance lifted off and peeled away to the west, work began to clear everyone out of the site and begin the journey to Takoya.

Within an hour, the pickup’s flat bed had been made comfortable by way of the now-Steveless mattress, and cushions and pillows were ready to receive two badly-damaged robots, a slightly built brassold robot, Miss Connie Dawson and a large dog. Connie and Blue both refused to leave their charges.

It took a little while to get The Spine and Rabbit into the pickup.

Rabbit was very gently lifted by everyone able to lend a hand, and he was carefully eased into the pickup, his back and chest padded by cushions to try and prevent any excess movement. Connie was carefully lifted in beside him by Joe, who never took his eyes off her. Connie smiled at him and kissed his cheek in thanks, and Joe felt at that moment like a moon-struck schoolboy.

Connie eased herself down against the back of the cab and made herself comfortable with a couple of cushions at her back, and lifted Rabbit’s head onto her lap. Settling herself, she rested one hand on Rabbit’s chest and the other on his head. Joe draped a couple of comforters over them both.

Connie looked down at Rabbit.

“You ready, son?”

Rabbit closed his optics and smiled.

“Y-Yes’m.”

Connie rubbed his chest to comfort him and was content.

The Spine, oddly enough, turned out to be the difficult one. He fussed and argued, not used to having decisions made for him, and it took a while to get him settled next to Rabbit, sitting upright and propped by a pillow at his back. Michael had re-dressed his injury with the surplus medical packing given to him by Les, and The Spine had to admit he felt a little better. He rested his hand on Rabbit’s shoulder, and relaxed.

The Jon leaped nimbly into the pickup, followed by Blue, and the two guardians made themselves comfortable at the tailgate, Blue curling up at The Spine’s feet and The Jon sitting beside him, one hand resting on Rabbit’s booted foot under the comforter.

Clarence fastened the tailgate. They were ready.

Michael leaned carefully over the side of the RAM and checked on his charges.

“You guys okay? Connie, are you going to be warm enough?”

Connie patted him gently on the head, ruffling his hair.

“We’ll be fine, sweetie. An’ I’ve been ridin’ in the back of pickups longer’n you’ve been alive, so don’t you fret, y’hear? I’ll make sure everyone’s okay an’ I’ll bang on the cab roof if they ain’t. You just sit tight and take care of yourself. I know you’re hurtin’, son, so go get yourself settled an’ try an’ rest. You got a lot to do once we get to Takoya.”

Michael grinned wearily.

“Okay. Rest easy, all of you. If you need me, just yell.”

He eased himself into the passenger seat of the RAM, fastened the seatbelt, and promptly fell asleep.

George Humboldt watched through swollen, blackened eyes as the robots were settled into the pickup, and he saw how Connie tended the damaged automatons, full of care and love and gentle touch, and his own heart broke. He didn’t understand. How could he? These were  _things_ , creations of metal and wires, cogs and oil lines. They weren’t human. How could she love them? And it was obvious that she did. Yet he was all flesh and bone, and she never saw how much he loved her. And she never would, he knew that now.

He turned away, fists clenching in pain, and got into Tom Brander’s jeep. Clarence would be driving the RAM. Humboldt knew he couldn’t bear to be anywhere near Connie and her robots. He closed his eyes, and in the shadow of the ragtop, he turned away and wept.

Joe was on the point of getting into the small back seat of the RAM’S cabin when Walt ran up beside him.

“Grandfather! Wait!” Walt was to ride back to the reservation, leading Pie and Muley, but he had been roaming over what was left of the gas station and Connie’s house, just checking that nothing important was being left behind.

Joe adjusted his Stetson and then put his hands on his hips.

“What is it, junior?”

Walt was holding something in his hand.

“I found this! I think it belongs to Rabbit!”

He held up a hat, dusty and a little dented, adorned with a set of goggles.

The Jon sat up, delighted.

“Hey Rabbit!! Walt’s found your hat!!”

Rabbit’s optics flew open and his jaw dropped open in surprise. He reached out with his good hand as Walt hung over the side of the pickup and handed the hat to him.

“Oh!” he gasped. “Oh my!” he dropped the hat beside him, his hand running gently over the metal of the old goggles. “Pappy … he, uh … h-he gave … gave me these goggles,” he said reverently.

Connie looked at The Spine, who smiled back, patting Rabbit’s shoulder.

“Happy now, sport?”

“Y-Yeah!” Rabbit snuggled closer to Connie, who petted him on the head.

Rabbit blinked out-of-sync optics at Walt.

“Thanks,” he breathed painfully.

Walt flashed a white grin, and his dark eyes softened.

“You’re welcome,  _shína'ââ_ 1. I’m glad you came back from the end of the earth2,” he said gently.

Rabbit twitched.

“I … I ain’t dead. N-N-Not … not yet anyways.”

Walt nodded, and then turned to his grandfather.

“I gotta go, Grandfather. I’ll see you back at the rez,” he added.

“Ride carefully, son. Don’t take any risks, y’hear me? Your mom will have my hide if anything happens to you.”

Walt hugged Joe, and then broke off, turned, and mounted Zooey. He took up Pie’s reins and Muley’s lead rope and was about to turn towards the hills and home, but stopped for a moment.

“Grandfather?”

Joe looked up at his grandson, the boy sitting tall and proud against the red and gold sky of a breathtaking sunset. Walt looked down at him.

“Ask her,” he said.

And then he was touching Zooey into a gentle trot, mindful that Pie’s back was sore and that his knees were swollen and cut. It would be a slow ride home.

Joe scowled and shook his head.

“I swear I’m goin’ to whack that boy upsides the head one of these days,” he muttered to himself as he eased into the RAM and shut the door.

As the sky darkened into the glory of the night, the little convoy set off to Takoya, Tom leading in the jeep and Clarence carefully tagging along behind in the RAM, taking care that his passengers, both human and robot, weren’t jarred and rattled as they drove through the desert landscape.

Connie gazed up at the huge, dark sky above, the billions of stars now beginning to appear in the blue-black of night. She glanced at The Spine, sitting quietly with his head resting against the back of the cabin. She saw The Jon hanging over the tailgate, looking for jackalopes, apparently, Blue sprawled out beside him. She looked down at Rabbit, his head on her lap and warmly tucked under the comforter, his old joints warm and cared-for. He still shivered and glitched, whimpered and held her hand to his chest for comfort, but she now knew he was safe.

She looked back up at the stars and thought of Joe’s warm dark eyes and gruff manner, his kindness and his care, and smiled.

“Ask me, Joe,” she murmured to herself. “Ask me.”

And resting her other hand on Rabbit’s head, she closed her eyes and slept. 

* * *

 

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

1.  _Shína'ââ_   - Jicarilla Apache word meaning older, or big brother.

2\. The Jicarilla believed that in the process of dying an individual's ghost or spirit was conducted northward to the edge of the earth where it was offered fruit. If the ghost refused the offer, it returned to its physical body and life, but if it accepted, it slid down into the afterworld and death occurred. Rabbit didn’t accept the fruit.


	24. Seven Point Eight - Chapter Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last I've managed to update - a massive chest infection on my part and then Hubby having a couple of heart attacks kinda brought everything to a halt. Hopefully there won't be such a hiatus until the next chapter!
> 
> Many, MANY thanks for everyone's patience, and to those of you who have supported and commented on this story and others. You are amazing, and have done me a power of good during my husband's illness. I will reply to those of you i haven't managed to thank personally as yet, I promise.

** CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR **

The drive over the desert to Takoya was long, arduous and painful. Tom Brander tried his best to pick out the easiest route, but some of the landscape had changed since the massive earthquake and subsequent aftershocks, and twice they had to stop and think about an alternative route as the original landmarks had simply disappeared.

During those few minutes of respite as Joe, Tom, Clarence and even George Humboldt stood in the headlights of the jeep discussing alternatives, Connie took the opportunity to make sure The Spine and Rabbit were coping with the trip.

Rabbit was holding his own. Since he had been pulled out of the hole his spirits had lifted somewhat, and although he was still in appalling condition, his optics had brightened and a little of his irrepressible humour had returned. He shivered and winced and pouted and demanded hugs, and tried his best to make Connie laugh because that was what Sergeant Dan would have done.

Connie petted his head and chest, called him ‘sweetheart’ and soothed him through his ‘pain,’ and he was content.

The Spine, on the other hand … Connie was fretting about the tall automaton.

Connie had slept a little during the first hour or so, but during their first stop she had been woken by The Jon, the little robot gently poking her arm.

She blinked awake, eyes adjusting to the dimness of star-glow.

“Wha - ? Jon, honey … what’s wrong?”

“Miss Connie? I think Spine’s gettin’ really sick, an’ … an’ he won’t tell me what’s happening!” His voice was a shaky whisper.

“S-Spine?” Rabbit echoed, instantly concerned. He strained his head sideways to try and see his brother, but the ‘pain’ was too much.

“Shhhh, sweetie. Be still, and I’ll see what I can do.”  Connie eased herself to one side and gently placed one of her cushions beneath Rabbit’s head. Then she settled onto her knees and studied the titanium figure stretched beside her.

“Connie … Connie, I’m fine … Jon, I … I’m okay, buddy … you shouldn’t have woken her – “ The Spine’s voice was cracked and dry, green photo-receptors flickering luminously in the night. The dimness of his optics alarmed her.

Connie reached out to touch The Spine’s chest. She had learned quickly that touch was the easiest way to gauge how well her robotic ‘boys’ were doing, and she was alarmed to feel the uncontrolled tremors running through The Spine’s lanky frame. His boiler was running hot, and he flinched as though Connie’s gentle touch burned his metalled skin.

She frowned, concerned, but he turned away, unwilling to let her see him in so much ‘pain.’ He couldn’t stop the grunt of agony as he did so, and Connie rubbed his chest in sympathy.

“Hurtin’, son, huh,” she said quietly. “Boiler’s dry too, I betcha.”

The Spine just gazed into the starlit night, his optics closing once and opening again with the greatest of effort. He stayed silent.

“Jon?” Connie glanced over at the little ‘bot, sitting cross-legged beside Blue, his optics wide with worry. “Pass me a bottle of water outta the box there, will ya, sweetie?”

The Jon scrambled over to the chill-box Clarence had thoughtfully provided and filled with bottles of water, opened it, grabbed the nearest one and handed it to Connie. She cracked the cap seal, opened it up and held it out for The Spine to take. He didn’t move. Connie’s brows drew down, puzzled.

“Son? What’s wrong?”

The Spine’s face was still turned away, and his chassis twitched slightly as his good hand pressed against the injury in his side.

“Back … joints …” he grated, every word an effort. “I’ve lost … lost too much fluid … hurts …”

Connie winced in sympathy. The loss of oil and hydraulic fluid was now seriously impacting on the silver automaton’s chassis, the lack of lubrication and the resulting difficulty in moving his limbs meant he was probably in agony. Connie realised that even speaking was causing him great ‘pain,’ and the mere thought of trying to hold a small bottle of water was simply too much for The Spine to contemplate.

The Jon was fidgeting, his distress obvious. Connie reached out with her other hand and The Jon held it for a moment.

“It’s alright, son … you’re brother’s hurtin’ an’ he didn’t want to worry ya, okay?” Connie was as calm as she could be, trying to settle the little ‘bot, and then she turned back to The Spine. She could sense Rabbit’s alarm even though she couldn’t see him properly in the dark.

“C’mon, boy,” she urged The Spine, “let’s get this water down ya an’ then I’ll get Michael – “

“NO!” The Spine rasped, his voice gruff with ‘pain,’ “No, please … let … let Michael rest … I’ll be okay …”

Connie, startled at his vehemence, hesitated for a moment and then settled herself into the space between the tall automaton and Rabbit, The Jon shuffling forward to be as close to his brothers as he could. Blue draped a heavy head over The Spine’s feet, letting out a low yawning whine of concern.

“Spine … honey … ya can’t go on like this. You gotta get some water in you.” Connie lifted the bottle once more, and this time she gestured at The Spine. “C’mon son – it’ll help, you know that.”

The Spine hesitated and then gave in with a pained sigh, leaning his head back against the cab and allowing Connie to put the bottle to his lips, the cool trickle of water feeling good against the heated metal of his throat. He drank the entire contents, and The Jon handed Connie another bottle from the cooler. The Spine drank that one too.

Sitting back, Connie studied the tall metal man before her, taking in the exhausted features, the shadow of a grim, agonised line of black lips and the flicker of optics overloaded by ‘pain.’ He was still avoiding looking at her, and Connie suddenly recognised inner conflict when she saw it. Robot he might be, but The Spine took his responsibilities to heart. For, Connie, knew, the Blue Matter core in his chest was a heart, no matter that it didn’t pump life-blood around a vascular system.

She rubbed his shoulder gently, knowing there was something bothering the silver robot.

“Somethin’s troublin’ ya, huh?” Connie chewed the inside of her cheek, worried. “It ain’t good fer a person to hold all that pain inside, hon.”

The Spine glanced at her, the green glow of his optics suddenly firefly-bright in the night.

“M’just … just a robot, Connie. Not a person. I’ll … I’ll be fine.”

Connie smiled sadly, shaking her head.

“Spine, sweetie, how often do I gotta tell ya …” but she let her words fade to silence, knowing The Spine wasn’t up to coping with one of her gentle scolds. So she patted his shoulder and sat back beside Rabbit, lifting his heavy head onto her lap once more.

The Spine’s photo-receptors blinked wearily and he let out a soft murmur of ‘pain’. Then he hesitantly relaxed against the back of the cab, his boiler now full and his systems working a little easier. He gave only a hint of his tired, fleeting smile, and closed his optics.

Connie made herself comfortable, and felt Rabbit’s hand grasp hers and pull it to his chest. He tic’d painfully and settled his chassis, his optics glancing up at Connie. He gave her a furtive wink.

“He, uh … h-he’s always gotta be the responsible one. Ya … ya gotta _make’m_ take … take a break sometimes …” Rabbit whispered conspiratorially. Connie squeezed his hand and petted his head.

“I’m worried about him, son,” she whispered back. “I … I don’t know how to help him, an’ … an’ … he’s hurtin’ inside an’ out. It ain’t good for him, Rabbit. He’s gotta let go sometime.”

Rabbit was silent, but she felt his thumb rub the back of her hand in agreement.

She smiled as reassuringly as she could at The Jon, who nodded, relieved, and finally curled up like a mouse next to Blue. The big dog sprawled onto his side, head on The Spine and front paws tucked against The Jon’s back, and went to sleep.

Connie settled down, pulled her comforter up to her shoulders, took one final check of her boys, and drifted into a light doze for the rest of the trip.

 

* * *

 

It was just past midnight when the little convoy made its way through streets littered with debris, the darkness dotted here and there by the headlights of stationary vehicles and clean-up crews using generators to power spotlights. The grim search for bodies was scaling down, but the emergency services still worked on, exhausted but determined to leave no corner unchecked.

Clarence Ticonderoga’s small automotive business was on the other side of the small town of Takoya, and had luckily avoided any lasting damage from the earthquake. Tiny lights shone in the small house attached to the barn-like garage and broad parking lot, and Connie could hear the steady, low hum of a well-maintained industrial generator.

As the jeep and pickup drove slowly into the yard and came to a halt, the door opened and a small, round figure was outlined by dim, golden light.

Irene Ticonderoga stepped from the doorway, down the single step and into the yard, hurrying towards her husband. A little woman, as wide as she was tall, her anxious features broke into relief as she saw Clarence ease stiffly out of the pickup. He smiled at her wearily and she hurried forward, arms wide in a welcoming embrace. Clarence gathered her into his arms, and she buried her face in his chest.

“It’s okay, Irene … everyone’s okay …” he crooned, his face pressed into her dark hair.

Irene looked up at him tearfully.

“Thank god … thank god … “ She peered around him at the pickup. “Connie … is she –“

“I’m here, Irene,” Connie called softly, her voice slurred with sleep. “I’m fine. Just tired an’ grubby is all. But I got some hurt boys here …”

Irene Ticonderoga’s green eyes widened and hurriedly kissing her husband, she turned from his arms and hurried to the back of the pickup.

“Connie Dawson, what on earth are you doin’ ridin’ in the back of – “ Her voice hitched. “Oh my!! Oh my _goodness_!!!!”

Irene had leaned over the tailgate only to find herself gazing into a pair of sleepy blue optics set in a golden metal visage.

The Jon smiled up at her, hope shining from every metal plate on his face.

“Hi,” he said drowsily. “Are you gonna help my brothers?”

Irene looked up at Connie and then at the two figures beside her old friend.

The Spine cracked a photo-receptor open and perused Irene, and then he gave her a tiny smile.

“Ma’am … “ he whispered, his voice betraying his ‘pain.’ He nodded almost imperceptibly in greeting.

Resting beside Connie with his head on her lap was a copper automaton, covered in grime and dust, scored with dents and scratches and adorned with a blue-green patina. Mismatched optics gazed at Irene wearily. Connie’s hand rested protectively on his head and Irene could see Connie’s other hand resting on this strange being’s shoulder, gentling him as he shivered in obvious discomfort under a warm comforter. She saw a glimpse of a steel bar piercing his chest which made Irene’s breath hitch in sympathy.

“Oh! Oh, Connie … oh my word …”

Connie gave Irene a shaky smile.

“Irene, these’re some of my boys an’ they’re all beat up. I gotta take care of ‘em an’ make sure they’re tended-to. Will ya help me?”

Irene’s huge, expressive eyes filled with tears and she reached out to touch The Jon’s cheek plates, her face filled with wonder. The Jon leaned into her touch and closed his optics.

“These … these are your brothers?” She whispered softly.

The Jon nodded vigorously, hat bobbling. He opened an optic, squinting.

“Yep.  That there’s The Spine …” The Jon waved his injured hand at the silver automaton – “ … an’ that’s Rabbit. They’re my big brothers.” His other optic crept open and he gazed intently at Irene. “They … they’re awful badly hurt, an’ … an’ Mister Clarence says he can help, ‘cause Michael’s hurt too an’ he has to fix ‘em an’ Connie’s got a bad ankle, Miss Irene, an’ she needs some food an’ a wash an’ Michael’s my best friend an’ he has broken ribs an’-“

“Whoa there … slow down!” Irene was enchanted. “What’s your name?”

The Jon blinked.

“Oh. Um … I’m The Jon.” He stuck out his bandaged hand to shake Irene’s, and then had second thoughts and swiftly changed to his good hand. “The Spine and Rabbit … they’re my heroes!” he whispered conspiratorially.

Irene shook the proffered hand, her eyes getting even wider. The cool metal of The Jon’s slender hand was smooth and shone dimly in the artificial light of the yard, and Irene marvelled at the gentleness of this little robot who smiled at her with such charm.

“Well … hello there …” she said softly.

“M-Miz Irene?”

Irene turned her eyes to the badly-damaged robot with his head resting on Connie’s lap.

“Yes … um … “ She didn’t quite know how to address this strange character, so she just plumped for what felt right when speaking to any young person of her acquaintance. “Yes, son?”

Rabbit gave her a little, piteous smile. “Would, uh, w-would you … you make sure … Miz Connie’s ankle is … is made all better?”

Irene thought for a moment.

“You’re Rabbit, right?”

A pair of mismatched, glowing optics blinked out of sync.

“Y-Yes’m.”

Irene could see that this Rabbit was deeply concerned and fretting, and she couldn’t help herself.

“Now don’t you worry, darlin’, Connie’ll be just fine, I promise,” she crooned. “She’ll be just fine. And you said you have a Michael with you? Is he …???”

Connie grinned.

“Nope, he’s not a robot. He’s human.” Her grin faltered. “He’s hurtin’, Irene. He needs some food in him and some rest, but he says he won’t see a doc until he’s taken care of Spine an’ Rabbit. Maybe you can persuade him to at least get cleaned up an’ fed. You got a way with folks.”

“Michael’s awake, Connie.” Joe appeared, standing beside the RAM at Connie’s shoulder where she leaned against the chassis. “He’s stiff an’ sore, an’ he needs a hot meal.” He turned concerned eyes to Irene. “We got two other boys flown into the hospital – are the ‘phone lines still down? I’d like to check an’ see how Steve and Sam are doin’.”

Irene rested a hand on his arm in sympathy.

“Lines are still down, I’m afraid, Joe. But when Ben gets back he can take you in, if you like.” She turned to The Spine, who was watching her silently, green optics faint in the shadows. “My oldest boy, Ben … he’s a fireman. He’ll be home in the next hour or so for a break and a meal before he goes back on duty. He can take Joe to the hospital to check on your family, if you like.”

“Ma’am, that would … would be much … much appreciated …” The Spine ground out. His chassis flinched in ‘pain.’

Irene flinched herself in concern. She saw the heavy bandaging at his waist and side, and her hand flew to her mouth as her heart went out to the tall automaton.

The door of the RAM opened and Michael levered himself out of the seat, grunting in agony as he straightened, unable for a second to catch his breath.

To save him making the effort to speak, Irene smiled at him gently.

“ … and you must be Michael.” Her smile softened even more, tempered with understanding. “You look all in, son. Let’s get you inside for a hot meal and find some fresh clothes for you. Our generator’s keepin’ the boiler and water supply goin’ so you can have a hot shower if you like.”

Michael, holding his side and trying to straighten, was torn between the heavenly luxury of a hot shower and meal and the need to take care of his friends.

“Ma’am … it sounds wonderful, but … but I gotta – “

Irene lifted a no-nonsense eyebrow and pursed her lips.

“Young man … you got bust ribs. How’re you gonna help get everyone out of the pickup, hmmmm???” Irene saw this tall, worn-out young man hesitate for a second and pressed her advantage. “Now then, you just come with me. You too, Connie. Neither of you are fit to help with the heavy stuff, so you’re gonna get some food in you, freshen up and get into some clean clothes. In the meantime Clarence an’ the rest will take care of your friends … _family_ ,” she corrected herself.

Michael decided there and then that he liked Irene Ticonderoga. She barely came up to his chest, and looked as soft and as gentle as a teddy bear, but he could sense the determination and no-nonsense soul beneath her rotund exterior.

“Ma’am … that sounds perfect.” His eyebrows drew down for a moment. “Are you sure you have enough? Supplies can’t be easy to get and I don’t want you to run short – “

Irene smiled benignly.

“I have two great big sons to feed, and I always have plenty, so don’t you worry.” She waved her hand at her front door. “So get in there, son, an’ I’ll be there in a moment while we get Connie out of the pickup. Joe will need to give her a hand … and no, you can’t help. You’re hurt. Go rest!”

When he hesitated she made shooing noises at him and made more waving gestures at the door.

Michael grinned.

“I’m a-goin’, I’m a-goin’!” Sobering for a moment he turned to the automaton brothers. “We’ll get you all fixed up as soon as Clarence can get everything set up in the workshop. Are you all going to be okay for a little while? I won’t be long. I won’t be much good to you anyways until Clarence gets you all sorted out.”

Rabbit gave him a weary smile in return.

“We, uh, we ain’t g-goin’ anyplace, Michael.” He coughed, and then rallied, The Jon resting a concerned hand on Rabbit’s boot. “We’ll … we’ll b-be just doozy, buddy,” he wheezed, optics blinking out of sync.

“Clarence’ll take good care of ‘em, son, I promise. He’ll make sure they’re as comfy as possible until you get cleaned up and fed. Then you can get to work.” Irene took a gentle hold on Michael’s elbow, insistent on steering him into warmth and comfort.

Michael looked at the three automatons and then at Connie, who nodded gently. He took his decision and it was written all over his dirty and bruised face.

“Thank you. The food and a shower sound wonderful.”

“I got some clothes that belonged to my son Andy. He was about your height … and I know he wouldn’t mind …” Irene’s eyes shone with tears. “We lost him in Iraq. You understand?”

Stunned, Michael nodded once, unable to form words into a reply.

Irene ushered him into the house, and Joe turned to Connie.

“C’mon, girl. Let’s get you inside while we take care of everyone else. You boys gonna be okay on your own for a minute or two?”

The Spine stayed silent and Rabbit was too preoccupied with trying and succeeding in getting a quick hug from Connie, but The Jon nodded vigorously at Joe.

“Yep!!! We’ll be just dandy, Joe! I’m Big Brother right now, so they gotta do what I tell ‘em!”

“What??” Rabbit said, startled. “I-I’m the oldest an’ you were o-only Big Brother for a-a-a little bit – “

The Jon smiled benignly, preening.

“I’m _still_ Big Brother The Jon,” he repeated cheerily. “Remember? ‘Till you’re all better an’ stuff.”

Rabbit gaped like a metallic tuna and his optics blinked out of sync.

“But … b-but …”

“ _And_ I’m Nurse The Jon – I’m gonna look after you two and make sure you _behave_!” The Jon’s dark gold eyebrows drew down into a serious expression – not something one usually saw on his plated visage.

Rabbit was incensed.

“Uh-uh!! N-N-NO WAY!! Y-You _can’t_ be … cuz … cuz … I, uh, _I-I’M_ the oldest an’ … “ he took a painful huffing breath, “an’ … “ he tried to turn to The Spine and failed, but that didn’t stop the tirade. “ … S-Spine, you … you tell’m … _I’M_ the B-Big Brother … “ Rabbit’s desperate interruption was halted by a series of hefty coughs, and The Spine managed to reach out and rest a hand on his brother’s shoulder, attempting to calm him. It didn’t work.

“ … _and_ I’m _SuperTheJon_ ,” The Jon added loftily. “Saint Pappers Claus is bringing me my cape with _SuperThe Jon_ on it, an’ that makes it official. Th’Spine said so.”

The Spine closed his optics in painful exasperation.

“No … no I _didn’t_ …” he whispered indignantly. “ I _said_ – “

The argument dissolved into snarky comments from The Jon, blustering, indignant complaints couched in coughing from a shivering, sick Rabbit and pained threats of retribution on them both growled weakly by a distinctly grumpy The Spine.

Connie had been reluctant to leave her charges, but eventually allowed Joe to lift her out of the truck. But instead of putting her down so that she could stand on her own two feet, he lifted her into his arms ready to carry her inside. Surprisingly, Connie didn’t object.  But when Joe hesitated and turned to try and calm down the three automatons, Connie patted his chest reassuringly.

“Leave ‘em be, Joe,” she said, smiling tiredly. “Let ‘em argue. They’re brothers. It’s doin’ ‘em good.” Her smile widened into a grin as she heard Rabbit call The Jon ‘a-a-a rattlin’ collection a’ spare parts from a slurry spreader’ and The Spine’s muttered answer ‘don’t make me come over there, _buddy_ ’.

They would be fine. Just _fine_.

“C’mon, Joe. I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.” And relaxing back into his arms, Connie leaned her head against Joe’s broad chest and closed her eyes.

* * *

 

It was just over an hour later when Michael Reed stepped gingerly outside into the cool, dry night air.

Irene Ticonderoga had quietly helped him cut the strapping around his ribs, and made sure that he had clean clothes to step into after the hot, steaming shower had worked wonders on his battered body. He had stood stoically in her kitchen and let her wind a wide bandage and surgical tape around his now-clean ribcage, and helped him into a plaid shirt and a pair of worn jeans. They were perfect for length, but their previous owner had been a fair bit wider than the young musician-turned-robot-mechanic, and they hung off his frame. But he didn’t care – he was clean, warm, and feeling better.

His mood improved even more as he wolfed down a thick stew and biscuits. As he ate, he noticed the photograph of a sturdy young man in dress uniform on the mantel, a framed citation beside the image. Humorous brown eyes looked at him from beneath a perfectly set peaked cap. Michael studied the young man, and nodded to himself. He mentally thanked Andy Ticonderoga for the clothes, but he also felt the pang of loss. It must be so terribly hard on Irene and her family to lose someone so young and with so much life to live.

But now he was ready to help his friends.

The lights were shining in the large workshop across the yard, and he could hear voices raised over the hum of machinery. The lights dimmed as something mechanical stuttered into life … a noise Michael knew well. But this was an ordinary, mechanical _chug_ , not the life-sound of automatons awakening from stasis.

Bending his head, he ducked his way through the small door set into the larger sliding door of the auto-shop, stepping over the raised sill and into light and activity.

George Humboldt’s pickup was parked beside an old and very sturdy steel work-bench, dented and worn but gleaming and spotlessly clean. Clarence and Tom, with help from The Jon and a tall, broad young man in a fireman’s uniform, were slowly lifting Rabbit from the bed of the RAM and onto the workbench using chains and block tackle.

The Jon was taking his Big Brother responsibilities very seriously, cradling Rabbit’s head and talking to him quietly. Michael had no idea what The Jon was saying, but Rabbit kept his photo-receptors firmly fixed on his brother, listening intently. Being slung between chains with a steel rod through one’s chest _had_ to hurt, Michael knew, but Rabbit – for once – didn’t complain. It had to be done, so the copper ‘bot just set his jaw against the ‘pain’ and hung on.

Once on the table, The Jon reached over and grabbed a cushion from the back of the pickup and, with infinite care and tenderness, laid Rabbit’s head on it as Clarence gently unshackled the chains.

For a moment or two, after the machinery was turned off, all that could be heard was a soft sigh from Rabbit as he lay on the bench on his side, the steel bar through his chest stark and ugly in the artificial light.

Michael swallowed nervously. He had no idea how much he could fix, or even if he could remove the bar from his friend’s chassis – but he had to try. He straightened, gasped at the pain in his ribs, and looked around for The Spine.

The silver automaton was sitting in an old and much-used armchair, tucked into a corner by a coffee machine and microwave oven. His fedora sat on a small table beside him, but the automaton wasn’t resting. He was leaning forward, hand pressed to his side, and was gazing intently at Rabbit. Every inch of his tall frame was tense, but The Spine had no intentions of powering down. Not until Rabbit was fixed.

Michael winced. Every breath The Spine took was rasping, dry … _painful_. But he was distracted by a figure looming beside him. He looked into warm brown eyes, and a big hand was proffered.

“Hi. The name’s Ben Ticonderoga. You must be Michael.”

Michael shook the hand and nodded.

“Michael Reed.”

For a moment, Michael wondered how two small people like Irene and George could produce such a tall, broad young man, and he realised with a jolt that Ben was almost identical to the picture on the mantel in Irene’s kitchen. _Oh lord_. Ben and Andy had been twins. He wondered how this kind young man’s parents coped with being reminded of their dead son every time they looked at his twin brother.

Ben smiled.

“I see mom found some of Andy’s clothes for ya. They fit not too bad, huh? Glad they could be of use.”

Michael nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I … “ He took a deep breath. “All I can do is say thanks for everything,” he finished lamely.

Ben gave him a lopsided grin.

“That’s okay.” He thought for a moment and then turned to where The Jon was standing beside Rabbit, talking softly. They had apparently forgotten their brotherly spat and Rabbit reached up to grasp The Jon’s hand as a wave of ‘pain’ hit him, making him gasp.

“Your … your _friends_ … they’re kinda … unique, huh.”

Michael had to agree.

“One of a kind,” he answered. “Well … more like three of a kind, I guess.” He took a shaky breath. He couldn’t delay any longer. “I … I have to take care of ‘em, now.”

Ben’s smile faded.

“You gonna be okay? I mean … do you need help? I can’t stay … I have to get back on duty, but I can ask around – “

Michael shook his head.

“Nah. I’ll be fine,” he lied. He had no idea what was ahead of him, but he couldn’t expect people to take time out from caring for their own families to help. “I got your dad, and Tom said he would stay. He has no family, so … “ He paused, thinking. “Look, Ben … would you mind taking Mister Humboldt into the hospital?”

They both turned to look at George Humboldt, standing in the shadows away from everyone, his eyes swollen almost shut and his nose black and bruised.

Ben pondered for a moment and then agreed.

“S’ppose. I heard he was a bit of an ass. But then, that’s nothin’ new,” he added. “You got folks at the hospital, Pa said, an’ I’ll take Joe in to see how they’re doin.’ One more body won’t hurt. George sure can’t drive himself with his eyes like they are. My baby brother Gabe is a medic out there, so when he’s finished his shift he’ll bring ‘em home. Will that do?”

Michael brightened at the thought of finding out how Steve and Sam were doing, although he couldn’t stop the flip of panic in his stomach when he thought about Steve’s leg. Lord only knew what was happening right now …

 _Stop it, you fool – nothing you can do about it right now and you have Rabbit an’ Spine to care for right this minute_ , he thought. He mentally shook away the panic.

“That’d be great, thanks,” he said to the tall young fireman. “Okay … okay, I got to do this.” He took as deep a breath as his hurt ribs would allow, and nodding to Ben, he turned to Rabbit.

“Are you ready, Rabbit?”

Mismatched optics blinked out of sync.

“Uh … n-nope.”

“Yep – he’s ready,” The Jon said, ignoring his recumbent brother.

“N-Not yet!” Groused Rabbit wearily. “Miz … Miz Connie … she said … she’d be here … hug me …”

Michael sighed.

“Rabbit, I can’t waste time, m’friend. I gotta – “

“I’m here, sweetie!”

Michael turned a little too quickly, his ribs twinging, to see Joe help Connie through the small door into the auto-shop. She limped over to Rabbit, her hand reaching out to rest on his head.

The Jon stepped back, smiling.

“See, grumpy-butt! Connie said she’d be here, now didn’t she?”

Rabbit studiously ignored his baby brother, and then arranged his face-plates into as pathetic an expression as he could manage.

“M-Miz Connie? You okay? Your … your ankle – “

“… is all strapped up an’ as good as new.” Connie gently chastised. “Now then, son … ya gotta power down. Rest up while Michael takes care of ya. When you wake up, that damn’ steel bar’ll be outta your chest an’ you’ll be jus’ fine, y’hear?”

Rabbit blinked.

“Yes’m.”

“Good boy. An’ then Michael can take care of The Spine.” Connie espied the silver figure sitting awkwardly on the old armchair. She had no idea how The Spine was staying conscious, but she saw the determination on his angular visage. “Jon …”

“Already on it!” quipped The Jon, giving Connie a swift hug and then trotting over to The Spine, flinging himself to his knees beside his big brother. “Spine? Ya gotta rest! Connie says so!”

The Spine gazed at Connie, seeing the worry in her storm-grey eyes. He bowed his head silently, and with The Jon’s help eased himself back in the armchair. He settled down to wait.

Michael looked around at the people gathered in the auto-shop. Clarence had hauled out every tool and piece of equipment he thought Michael might need, and Tom Brander stood beside him, ready and waiting to help if he could.

George Humboldt had gone outside, silently evading accusatory gazes from Connie, and Ben tapped Joe on the shoulder. It was time to go.

Joe looked down at Connie, and reached out to squeeze Rabbit’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, son – Michael an’ Connie’ll take good care of you and your brother. Connie … if you get tired you sit down, y’hear me? An’ make sure Michael does the same.”

Connie’s mouth quirked.

“Yes Joe.”

Joe nodded.

“Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll be able to tell you all about how Sam an’ Steve are doin’ when you wake up, Rabbit, I promise.”

Rabbit closed his optics.

“Sure … sure,” he sighed quietly. He was so very, _very_ tired …

Satisfied, Joe followed Ben Ticonderoga out into the yard, and then they were gone.

Connie rested her other hand on Rabbit’s wounded chest.

“Okay, sweetheart. You gotta sleep now. Let Michael do his work.”

Rabbit opened his optics for a moment. He was terrified, but he was too sick to do anything about it. This time there were no smart-mouth comments, sulks or hiding in the cellar. This time, he knew, there was no running away. Even if he had been well enough to make a dash for it, he knew he would die if he did. He closed his optics again, but they snapped open as he remembered something.

“Miz Connie?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll be h-here … when … when I wakes up?”

Connie smiled.

“Of course I will. Didn’t I promise?”

“A-An’ you’ll, uh, y-you’ll give me a … a hug?”

“Always.”

Rabbit sighed, content. And without saying another word, he powered down. His chassis stilled and his optics dimmed, and finally, for the first time since the earthquake, he was completely free of ‘pain.’

Connie bent over and kissed his forehead.

“See ya later, sweetheart. I promise.” She looked up at Michael. “Okay, Michael honey. Here we go.”

Michael lifted a pair of needle-nosed pliers and a wire-stripper, and gritting his teeth, set to work.

* * *

 

Michael Reed had never worked so hard in his life. He fixed leaking oil lines and hydraulic tubing. He replaced or mended shattered cogs and repaired endless electrical connections. He swore and sweated, only spoke to demand a tool which Clarence or Tom handed to him without a word, and wept when an hour’s-worth of repair suddenly gave way under the strain.

Connie sat quietly on an old stool beside Rabbit, her hand resting on his head, and never said a word.

The only other sound in the big auto-shop was every rasping, painful breath that echoed from the tall, silver automaton slowly bleeding out in the old armchair in the corner.

The Jon never moved except to find a clean rag which he eased under The Spine’s hand and pressed tight against the devastating injury in the lean robot’s side.

The sun was beginning to rise when Michael straightened painfully. He had done everything he could to fix damaged lines and synapses. Now he had one more thing to do – he had to remove the steel bar piercing Rabbit’s chassis. He had done everything he could to minimise the danger, but the young mechanic had no idea if he had done enough to make it safe to remove the bar.

Connie saw him hesitate.

“It’s okay, Michael – you have to do it. It’ll work,” she whispered.

Michael looked at The Spine and saw an almost imperceptible nod of assent.

It was now or never.

He slipped on a pair of ribbed gloves which gave him a firmer grip on the metal. Tom Brander gripped the rod at Rabbit’s back, ready to push when Michael told him to.

They were ready.

Michael was on the point of beginning to pull the rod straight and true out of Rabbit, when they all heard a vehicle pull up outside.

“That’ll be Gabe,” Clarence said, smiling. “Now we’ll find out about your friends.”

But then there were raised voices and a minor argument breaking out. A moment later the small door burst open to admit a neatly dressed woman with immaculate hair and tasteful makeup.

Connie gasped.

The woman straightened, her sharp face relaxing in relief, and she hurried forward, arms wide, to give Connie a hug.

“MOM! Oh, thank god!!! You’re safe!!”

Connie’s jaw dropped.

“ _Cathy???_ ”

The woman hugged Connie, pulling her away from Rabbit.

“Mom, I thought … oh god, I thought you were dead! I met Joe in the hospital – we got through yesterday and thought that was the best place to wait!! Are you all right??” Cathy let go of her mother and stepped back, grasping Connie’s shoulders. “Okay … now you’re going to come home with me. Joe said you lost everything, so you’re going to live with us. Let’s go get your stuff and we’ll go right home.” Cathy looked at the people around her, and then took in the three robots. She shook her head. “What the hell’s this?? Oh, never mind.” She dismissed everything from her mind and focused on Connie once more. “Mom, we have to go – c’mon. We’re leaving.”

Connie straightened, and her hand reached out to rest once more on Rabbit’s head. She could feel curious eyes staring at her from around the auto-shop, and swallowing, she finally found her voice.

“Leave?”

Cathy blinked, her angular features puzzled.

“Well … yes, of course!”

Connie raised an eyebrow and her stance stiffened.

“Like _hell_ I’m gonna leave!” she said.

And sitting back down beside Rabbit she looked up at Michael.

“Alrighty then, son. Let’s get this done. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Michael blinked once, grasped the steel rod embedded in his friend, and set his mind to his task.

 

TBC


	25. Seven Point Eight - Chapter 25

** CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE **

“Mother??”

Catherine Dawson Delaney’s sharp features were confused. She looked around at the figures in the old auto-shop, and not one of them was looking at her – including her mother. All eyes were riveted on the still figure lying prone on the metal workbench, its surface now oil-streaked and stained with ugly pools of dark red-black hydraulic fluid.

She tried again, brows furrowed with impending anger.

“ _Mom_??”

Her words fell on deaf ears.

Connie ignored her daughter, and shifted her hands to lie on Rabbit’s shoulder, bracing herself, making sure Rabbit’s chassis didn’t move any more than it had to as Michael worked to remove the bar. Clarence held tight to Rabbit’s legs and lower torso, and Michael re-firmed his grip.

His gaze flicked to Brander.

“I might need help here - I don’t think I can …. I can pull this thing, Tom. Maybe … maybe you could pull the bar from the other side while I push. My ribs … I can’t –“

Tom nodded.

“Just let me know when, son.” His pale eyes were soft with concern.

Cathy Delaney didn’t like being ignored.

Reaching forward, she firmly grasped her mother’s shoulder and tried to turn Connie around to face her. The only response she garnered was an irritated, dismissive shrug as Connie tightened her grip on Rabbit’s unresponsive frame.

“Mother … MOM … _For God’s sake, Mother_ –“ Cathy’s voice had dropped to an irate hiss.

Connie didn’t look at her daughter. Her attention was wholly on Rabbit. Then Connie spoke so softly even Michael could barely hear her, all the while keeping her gaze fixed on the unconscious automaton before her.

“Catherine … Cathy … I have to do this, girl. I’m safe, an’ I’m glad beyond belief to see ya, but I got hurt people here, an’ I gotta help ‘em – without them I wouldn’t be here. I’d be dead an’ gone. _Period_. So, leave me be an’ I’ll see ya later when they’re outta danger, okay?”

Michael could tell that Connie was doing her damndest to control herself, to keep her voice calm, although he could hear the waver in her words even as she looked at Rabbit’s motionless figure.

Cathy shook her head, confused.

“People?” She frowned and studied Rabbit for a moment. She glanced at The Spine and The Jon, taking in the metal plates and glowing optics. “Mom … _what people_?? There are no hurt _people_ here that I can see! I … I don’t understand –“

“STOP IT!”

The Jon’s terrified voice cut through the impending tirade like a hot knife through butter.

Both Cathy and her mother turned to the little ‘bot, who still sat beside The Spine, his good hand clenching and unclenching and his entire being oozing fear.

Connie furrowed her brow, her focus momentarily disturbed.

“Jon, honey –“

“YA GOTTA STOP, LADY!” His gaze was fixed on Cathy as though willing her to be quiet. “CONNIE AN’ MICHAEL ARE TRYING TO SAVE RABBIT!”

It was obvious to Connie that The Jon was nearly at the end of his tether. The stress was now breaking him, bending him to its will, his frame quaking with horror and terror.

A soft growl began behind the old chair cradling a fading The Spine, and Blue crept into view. His hackles were raised, and he stood beside The Jon, menacing rumbles coming from his deep chest.

“SEE!! NOW YOU’VE UPSET BLUE!” The Jon added, oil glistening on his cheeks as he hugged the big dog.

Somehow, finding strength from somewhere far, far within his battered chassis, The Spine raised an unsteady hand from his terribly damaged side and laid it on The Jon’s shoulder in comfort.

His emerald optics gazed at Cathy with such infinite sadness that her mouth snapped shut in shock. After a few moments of struggle, he managed to utter one word, gaunt face riven with pain and exhaustion.

“ _Please_ …” he whispered.

That single word, said so softly and with such unfathomable agony, made Cathy Delaney blink.

The tension in the big workshop was almost palpable, thick in the air, oozing with an unbearable sense of desperation. She looked from face to face, gazing deeply into sets of eyes and optics that darted from her face to the still figure on the oil-slick table. All was silence, apart from the rasp of The Spine’s hitching breaths and the occasional rumble from Blue, who now crept around The Jon to lie at The Spine’s feet. The big dog lifted a paw and dropped it on The Spine’s boot, and then rested his head on both paw and foot.

Connie touched her daughter’s hand.

“Cathy girl. It don’t mean I love ya any less. You’re my daughter, an’ I love you more’n life itself, you know that. But I have to do this, okay? These boys … I … they …” her words drifted into silence. She sighed deeply, gathering herself together. “They’re my precious boys.” She smiled at Michael. “All of ‘em.” Her eyes softened. “An’ they need me.”

Cathy studied her mother. She saw the storm-grey eyes fill with tears, and took in the exhaustion and sadness in her mother’s features. She had no idea what the hell was going on, and she didn’t understand this sudden affection for what appeared to be nothing more that mechanical automatons, but after decades of butting heads with her parent, she knew when to back down.

She let out an explosive breath.

“Oh, what the hell …” she exclaimed, arms waving in exasperation. “You do whatever the hell you want to do. You always have,” she added with more than a trace of bitterness. “I’ll be back later when you’ve come to your senses. Joe will let me know when that is, no doubt.” And without another word, she stalked out of the building, slamming the small door behind her.

Connie nodded to herself, swallowing back tears. Her hands were back steadying Rabbit.

Michael braced himself.

“You okay, Connie?” he asked gently.

“Yeah … yeah, ‘m okay.” She took a deep calming breath.

Michael glanced over at The Spine and The Jon, both of them watching him intently. He nodded, and saw both robots nod back, as though giving him permission to save their brother’s life.

“Right.” He tensed his bone-weary muscles, tightened his grip once more on the heavy steel rod buried deep, deep within his friend, and pushed.

* * *

 

The sound was terrible.

The scream of metal on metal filled the auto-shop, setting human teeth on edge and making sensitive robotic aural systems send out electrical impulses of alarm. The Jon scrunched his optics tightly closed and put his hands over his ears trying to block out the dreadful sound, but The Spine stood the appalling noise of the steel rod moving through his brother’s chest as stoically as he did everything else in life. He sat back, good hand once more clutching his side, futilely trying to ease the interminable _drip_ … _drip_ … _drip_ of oil and hydraulic fluid from the hole in his chassis.

Michael was struggling to move the rod as quickly but as carefully as he could, given the circumstances, and the combination of effort, strain and the pain in his side had sweat sticking his shirt to his back.

“Damn, this is … this is awful …” he muttered, heartbreak rife in his voice.

“It’s comin’ son,” said Tom, who was trying to help even out the movement of the rod as it emerged slowly from Rabbit’s back. “Just … just keep goin’. It won’t be long now,” he added. Even though the trauma Rabbit had endured during the aftershocks had enlarged the entry and exit holes, the rod was still driven through cogs and wheels deep inside his chest, and the effort to move it was tremendous.

Connie held tight onto Rabbit, feeling the agonizing rasp of metal on metal, deep within this young-old clockwork man she loved as a son. She saw the new ooze of oil and hydraulic fluid from the hole in Rabbit’s chassis, and there was the _swoosh_ of fluid sloshing alarmingly as the copper automaton’s damaged bellows was unavoidably agitated by the journey of the rod.

“Michael … his bellows … when that thing comes outta there …” Connie bit her lip.

Michael looked up from his work, perspiration dripping into his eyes. He stopped for a moment to wipe it away with a sleeve. He had already drained the fluid from Rabbit’s good bellows, but the damaged one … he dreaded dealing with it.

“It’s going to be messy – nothin’ I can do about it. But the fluid’s better out than in. Means I can patch up the bellows without working wrist-deep in oily water. Then I can weld over the holes in his chassis and check for any other leaks an’ stuff.” He dabbed at his face with a cloth handed to him by Clarence. “Then I should be able to get him back to Walter Manor for an overhaul. _I hope_.” He added wearily.

Connie took a shaky breath.

“Okay, boy. You ain’t alone here … we’ll help ya all we can, you know that,” she added.

Michael eased the crick in his neck and set himself to finish this dreadful business.

“Tom, when this end frees up on this side we got to keep it as straight as possible and get through Rabbit as quick as we can. I don’t want it movin’ around inside and causing any more damage.”

Tom Brander gripped the rod more tightly.

“I got it, Michael. We’ll do this quickly an’ cleanly, I promise.”

Michael quirked a quick smile, and nodded.

“Here we go …”

And gathering the last of his strength he gritted his teeth against the pain in his ribs and pushed.

The rod, complaining and screeching every inch of the way, moved through Rabbit’s battered chassis and disappeared slowly but surely as Tom pulled carefully, keeping up a steady pressure.

“It’s … it’s movin’ …” Tom grasped the rod and pulled as straight and as hard as he could, knowing that if he deviated even a fraction of an inch either way, Rabbit’s internal mechanisms could be damaged beyond repair.

The sudden gush of filthy, oily fluid was almost obscene. As Tom finally pulled the rod free and threw it on the floor behind him out of the way, the holes in Rabbit’s chest and shoulder bled. Oh, how they bled, and Connie gasped her horror. She had been through this whole nightmare knowing that Rabbit was badly hurt, but right at that moment, the full impact of what he had endured tore her heart in two.

She stared at Rabbit, lying on his side, photoreceptors closed and face in gentle repose. The red-tinged water, greasy with oil and hydraulic fluid, swirled around his torso and dripped noisily onto the concrete floor. A small stream of the messy liquid trickled from the side of Rabbit’s mouth. The metal table was awash with the stuff.

Connie suddenly had to turn away. She felt faint, and she covered her mouth with one hand, feeling the bile rise.

“Connie!” Michael’s voice was sharp. “Connie, I need you! _Now!_ C’mon, gal, I need help here!”

She heard the urgency in the young mechanic’s voice, and it sent a shudder of sudden clarity through her. Connie swallowed, coughed, and turned back to the job in hand.

“Sorry …” she whispered, genuinely horrified that she had let the situation get to her. She had decades of experience caring for badly-injured people, but never … _never_ … had she allowed it to become personal. She couldn’t afford to let Rabbit down. Not now.

Michael had moved to Rabbit’s chest plate and was deep within the automaton’s battered chassis, frantically repairing the remaining tubes and connections. He grabbed Connie’s hand, shoved it deep within the chest cavity and folded her fingers around a slick, oily tube.

“Hold this as tight as you can! _Tighter!!_ ” Michael’s voice was raw with emotion as he left Connie holding the tube shut as he taped it closed and then tightened a clamp onto the valve. That done, he pried Connie’s hand loose and put another tube into her grasp. Once more he taped and clamped, and for the next ten minutes the two of them followed a routine as one by one, Rabbit’s badly damaged systemic tubing was either sealed tight or brought back into use. It was only temporary, they both knew, but it would hold until Rabbit returned home.

After an hour had passed, Michael looked up at Connie, eyes haunted and bloodshot with fatigue.

“I … I think that’s it. I’ve done as much as I can with his electronic circuits and hydraulics. It should work well enough for now.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “All I gotta do now is patch his bellows and find a way of welding the holes closed in his chassis.”

Connie leaned over Rabbit, her hands still stained with oily water, and squeezed the worn young mechanic’s shoulder.

“Michael … son … rest a few minutes, _please_. You’re gonna pass out if you keep this up.”

He shook his head groggily.

“Nope. Gotta keep going. I have no idea how I’m going to patch Rabbit’s bellows. I don’t have anything –“

“Hang on, Michael.” Tom Brander spoke up, his mouth curving in a wry smile. “I think I’ve got just the thing. I used to keep some stuff of mine here years ago … ”

The lanky man turned away from his place at Rabbit’s feet and rummaged in an old wooden box in the recesses of Clarence’s storage area. He finally gave a grunt of triumph and straightened, turned, and returned to Michael’s side. He offered the mechanic a small metal box.

Michael stared at it. Then he laughed quietly, the laughter easing the worn lines on his face.

“A bicycle puncture repair kit. Sheesh. Why didn’t I think of that?”

And within minutes Rabbit’s bellows was sealed as tight as a drum.

Michael sat down on a stool. His shoulders slumped and his head hung. He was trembling.

Connie rested a hand on Rabbit’s head for a fleeting moment, and then she eased herself off her own seat and limped over to Michael. She studied him, her brow furrowing.

“Michael, take a minute, boy. Go wash up, eat something and get a hot drink in you. We’ll look after Rabbit.”

Michael looked up blearily.

“Can’t. Gotta seal up those holes in his chassis –“

“I can do that, son.” Clarence appeared at Connie’s side. “I’ve been welding stuff since I was knee high to a gopher, and I can do the job quick an’ easy. Go rest a while. We’ll have Rabbit all fixed an’ cleaned up, and then we can get The Spine ready … if that’s okay?” he added, his gaze settling on the tall automaton seated in the old chair, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

The Spine smiled painfully.

“Yes …” he ground out between clenched jaws. “And … and thank you. For helping Michael take … take care of our brother.”

Clarence returned The Spine’s smile with one of his own, his dark gaze soft with concern.

“That’s okay, son. That’s what friends are for.”

The Spine’s mouth tic’d with a small grin, even as he tried to figure out how many times in the past few days he had been called ‘son’ and by how many people. But his mental acuity was not working to order, another effect of oil and fluid loss. He felt … _fuzzy_.

“Spine?”

The Jon’s gentle murmur interrupted his wayward thoughts.

“Hmmm?”

Green optics met blue ones.

“Spine, I’m gonna help Clarence take care of Rabbit, an’ then I’ll be back to help ya. Blue?”

The dog raised his head as The Jon spoke his name.

“Blue, you gotta take care of The Spine for a little while. Now you make sure he doesn’t move, okay? Don’t let him get antsy, ‘cause he can be a bit … “ The Jon struggled for a moment to find a suitable epithet, “um … well … _not fluffy_.”

Happy that Blue understood him, confirmed by the animal’s yawning whine and rump-wag as The Spine had the good grace to look utterly confused at being referred to as _not_ fluffy, The Jon stood up and after squeezing a somewhat bemused The Spine’s shoulder in comfort, he was beside Clarence in a moment.

“Hi Clarence. I’m gonna _help_.” The Jon beamed.

Clarence raised an eyebrow, and then his expressive features broke into a grin.

“Hell, why not?” he said, charmed by The Jon’s enthusiasm.

The Jon almost hopped with delight.

“Great!!! Clarence … c’n I ask you something?”

Clarence’s other eyebrow hitched in curiosity.

“Sure!”

“I got an idea for the welding stuff. Rabbit’ll love it!” he added conspiratorially.

Clarence pursed doubtful lips, but he nodded.

“Oooookayyy … let’s hear it, Jon. It’s not gonna cause ructions, is it?”

The Jon shook his head vigorously, hat bobbling.

“Oh no! Honest! It’ll make Rabbit happy!”

“Well then … let’s get on with it, son, and get Rabbit all whole again, huh? Oh, an’ Michael?”

Michael Reed looked up from his slumped position on the old stool, exhaustion writ large in every muscle. Connie rubbed his shoulder, comforting as best she could.

“Yeah?” The young mechanic’s voice was hoarse with tiredness.

Clarence raised a hand, gesturing at Rabbit’s lax body on a table still awash with red-stained fluid.

“Go rest a little. We got your back, lad. Let us deal with it, get everything cleaned up and ready for you to take care of Spine, alright?”

Michael looked at Clarence, then his gaze drifted to Connie and then finally to The Spine. The automaton sat rigidly in the old chair, head hanging and the rasp of each breath coming more slowly now. But even as Michael opened his mouth to speak, The Spine looked up, photo-receptors dim but steady.

“S’ … S’okay, Michael,” The Spine whispered. “G … go.”

Michael suddenly realised he had to take a step back from the stress. If he didn’t, he knew, Connie would be proved right – he would pass out and be absolutely no use to anyone – a situation that could have deadly results for The Spine.

Decision made, he tried to stand up, but it took Tom Brander’s help for him to stay upright, swaying. He took a minute to pull himself together even as his ribs reacted to the sudden movement, but finally he felt well enough to walk slowly from the building, Tom beside him, his hand at the young man’s elbow, supporting him.

Connie watched silently as Michael and Tom shut the external door behind them, and then she turned to The Spine. Leaving Clarence and The Jon to take care of Rabbit and clean up the oily residue on the table, she limped over to the tall automaton and knelt slowly beside him.

Blue lifted his head and wrinkled a doggy smile at this human who, he sensed, cared a great deal about his charge. Connie smiled back at the big dog and rumpled his ears, which resulted in a Blue-stumpy-tail-wag and a panting huff of pleasure from the animal.

“Good … good dog …”

The Spine whispered the words, ground out from a voice box dry and cracking from lack of lubrication and care.

Blue’s rear end wagged so hard it was almost a case of the tail wagging the dog.

Connie looked affectionately at Blue, and then turned her gaze to The Spine. Green optics, flickering now with stress, gazed back.

Connie cupped his cheek with one hand, and her face creased into a rueful grin.

“Hey there, handsome. How’re ya doin’?” she said softly.

The Spine wearily raised an eyebrow and then, to Connie’s astonishment, managed a sweet, gentle smile, his mouth curving gently, albeit a little lopsidedly.

“O-Oh … you know …” he whispered breathlessly, “I … I’m doing –“

“ – _fine_ , yes, I know,” finished Connie, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Okay, sweetie. Now it’s your turn to rest up while Michael takes care of you. While we _all_ take care of you.” She ran a thumb across his cheekbone. “You can stand down now, son. You’ve worked miracles these past couple of days. But now … now you gotta get fixed and let yourself heal, y’hear?”

The Spine blinked slowly, and then he nodded, every movement jerky with resistance from the dry rasp of metal against metal.

“I … I hear you,” he said, his voice so quiet that Connie barely heard him. The Spine had finally reached the end of his formidable strength. His thoughts were erratic now, words were refusing to form themselves into sentences, and even his memory was beginning to fail. “Can’t …” he began, and then halted, trying to take a deep breath before he continued.

Connie frowned.

“Can’t … can’t what, sweetheart?”

The Spine’s sweet smile and his optics widened, the child-like wonder in his face making Connie’s breath hitch with the heartbreak of it.

“Can’t … remember … your name …”

So this was it, Connie knew. The Spine was winding down, his systems failing neural synapse by neural synapse. _He was dying_.

She began to wipe tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, even as she smiled reassuringly at this failing young man who had given everything he had to save his family.

“Oh, now, that’s okay, hon. What do names matter, huh? You just hang on in there for a few minutes until Michael gets back, an’ we’ll get you all fixed up in a jiffy!”

The Spine closed his optics and then then opened them again with great effort. He looked puzzled.

“M … Michael …??”

Connie couldn’t stop the hitching sob in her voice.

“He … he’s goin’ ta make you well again, boy. I promise. An’ you won’t be in pain any more an’ you’ll remember your brothers an’ the band an’ … an’ even me. I _hope_ ,” she added.

The Spine allowed his optics to finally drift shut, and he gave the tiniest of nods.

“Oh … o-okay …”

Connie leaned forward, and as she had done with Rabbit so long ago, or so it seemed, she rested her forehead against The Spine’s, trying to comfort him.

But the moment was broken by the noise of a door opening and shutting, and she lifted her head and saw Michael Reed walk stiffly towards her, the ever-present Tom Brander at his side.

The tall young mechanic looked a little better, his eyes less dull and his features not quite so drawn with pain. He was also wearing a change of clothes. Irene Ticonderoga had worked her magic and brought Michael back to them, fed, watered, clean and his hurts tended to. Michael might not be fighting fit by any stretch of the imagination, but he was, at least, able to continue his work of saving his friends for as long as it took.

“How’s he doing?” Michael asked, favouring his injured side.

Connie eased back and rose stiffly to her feet, one hand returning to The Spine’s good shoulder. She had to swallow back further sobs when The Spine leaned his head against her arm, taking comfort from her presence. He might not remember who she was, but he knew somewhere deep within his terribly damaged circuits that she cared about him.

“Um … he, ah … he can’t remember who we are, Michael,” Connie replied, voice crackling with fear. “He … doesn’t know his own folks … his family. What’re we gonna do?? He’s dyin’, an’ I don’t know –“

Michael ran shaking fingers through his hair. He should have guessed – no, he should have _known_ that The Spine would hide the real effect of his injury from them all.

“Damn.” He wiped his hand over his face, took as deep a breath as he could and made a decision. “Tom, we need to get going on this. I need a clean space to work – I can’t wait for Rabbit to be moved. Is there another table, or something like it?”

Tom Brander thought for a moment and then grinned.

“I got an idea. Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Michael nodded and then turned to Connie and The Spine. The automaton gave no sign that he had noticed Michael’s return.

“I’m sorry, Spine. I shouldn’t have gone … I should have got right on with helping you out … it’s … it’s my fault …”

The tall young man looked stricken.

Connie wrapped her free arm awkwardly around him as carefully as she could and gave him a hug.

“No, son. You did the right thing. _Absolutely_ the right thing.”

She held him for a few moments, and then straightened, looking Michael square in the eye. She didn’t have time for sorrow now. She had to help Michael take care of The Spine, and then she had to make sure that Michael got medical attention for his own injuries. He was, she decided, as stubborn as The Spine.

“Can you save him, Michael? Be honest now.”

Michael stared at Connie, and then at The Spine, who still sat with his head against Connie’s arm. He didn’t move an inch. Michael shook his head.

“Honestly?” he whispered. “I have no idea.”

Connie smiled ruefully.

“Well, that’s a better answer than I expected. All you can do is try, boy. Just … _try_.” 

They were interrupted by the sound of a large vehicle starting up outside, followed by the huge door into the auto-shop sliding open. Tom grinned at them as he hitched the door open, and then disappeared, only to appear a minute later driving a big tractor and flatbed trailer. He swung the vehicle around and then, with the greatest skill, eased the trailer inside the doorway, inching backwards into the available space. 

As soon as the trailer was in place, Tom applied the brakes of the tractor and leaped out of the cab. 

He turned to Clarence and The Jon, who were still cleaning up the remains of the fluid surrounding Rabbit.

“Jon? I need a hand here for a moment. I can’t lift this on my own,” he added. 

The Jon looked at Clarence, who smiled. 

“Go ahead, Jon – I can manage here.”

The Jon grinned. He bent down to Rabbit, so still and battered, but now a lot cleaner. 

“Hey … Rabbit … just goin’ to help Tom. Be right back, okay? Then we can getcha all welded up. I got a surprise for ya. Just you wait!” He added gleefully. 

He listened for a moment, and despite Rabbit’s silence, The Jon nodded, reassured. Straightening, he glanced over to The Spine, and a shocked frown slid onto his golden features. 

“Oh! Oh, Spine … we gotta hurry!” His voice was a choked whisper, and for a moment his hands ran up and down his dusty suspenders. His brother was so _, so_ sick … 

“Jon?” 

The Jon heard the softly-spoken words and felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. Blinking, he turned to see Tom Brander beside him. 

“C’mon, Jon. I need your help, son. Then we can take care of your brother super quick, okay?” 

The Jon nodded, hat bobbling. 

“We gotta, Tom! He’s gettin’ worse!! What can I do?” 

Tom guided him over to a large sheet of galvanised steel propped up against the wall of the auto-shop. 

“We need this,” he indicated the steel sheet, “on here,” he rested a hand on the trailer. “We need something clean and strong for The Spine, so that Michael can fix him. Once we get the sheet in place, I’ll back the trailer over to The Spine. Then you can help him get settled, all right?” 

The Jon leapt on the sheet of heavy steel and began grappling with it, even though his wounded hand wouldn’t allow much of a grip. 

Tom raised his hands, trying futilely to slow the little ‘bot down. 

“Whoa there, son! Wait for me! We gotta do this together, okay?” 

The Jon slowed a little, allowing Tom to grasp the other end of the sheet, but he didn’t stop. 

“Tom! M-my brother … he’s _dyin’!_ We gotta _hurry!_ ” 

Tom Brander hesitated, and then nodded. “We’ll go as fast as we can, Jon, I promise. C’mon. Let’s get this done!” 

So they did.

 

* * *

 

It took less than fifteen minutes to get the trailer ready, park it beside The Spine, and – with The Jon’s strong arms and gentle ways – ease The Spine onto the trailer. 

The Jon and Connie let the silver automaton rest on his back on the galvanised sheet, and The Jon cradled his brother’s head, unwilling to let it fall onto the hard surface. Connie saw his dilemma and grasped a cushion from the old armchair and slid it under The Spine’s head. 

Blue followed her and crept underneath the trailer, laid his head on his paws, and settled down to wait. 

The Jon ran his fingers over The Spine’s features, his bottom lip beginning to quiver. 

“Spine … oh, Spine …” 

The Spine, hurt and battered and bleeding still, managed, with the greatest effort, to crank open his photo-receptors.   Flickering and dim, his optics studied the face above him, and The Jon’s face lit up. 

“Spine! You’re awake! How’re ya feeling? Michael’s gonna fix you all up an’ then we’re gonna stay with Joe an’ Walt an’ Pie an’ Blue at the rez an …” his voice faded and his features fell. He looked up at Connie. “He … doesn’t know who I am! Connie, Spine doesn’t know me!! He … he’s …” 

“I know, Jon, I know.” Connie rubbed The Jon’s back. “C’mon, now. Let Michael do his work. Let him bring Spine back to us, whole an’ well. Anyway, you got to take care of Rabbit right now. Help Clarence.” 

The Jon was torn. He watched, appalled, as the oil still drip-drip-dripped from the ragged hole in The Spine’s side, and then he looked over at his oldest brother, unconscious and bare-chested now, as Clarence prepared to weld shut the holes in his chest and shoulder.  

All of a sudden, he felt a wail begin to bubble in the void in his chest. 

The Jon’s wails were something over which he normally had no control, and the sudden feeling of alone-ness finally got to him. His brothers were _so_ badly injured, and he was on his own. They had been part of his entire life – 116 years of brotherhood … 116 years of arguments, hugs, wars, and, most of all, music. The wail began to work its way up his cogs and pipelines and then it reached his voice box. 

But The Jon saw the agonised confusion in The Spine’s gaunt face, and there and then, he decided that right now was the time for him to be Ever So Brave. 

Clamping his mouth shut, The Jon felt the wail hit his voice box like a tidal wave. It battered its way up his throat and into his mouth, but that was as far as it got. For a moment, The Jon thought his head would explode and he felt steam try and vent through his teeth along with the treacherous wail, but he clamped his jaws even more tightly together and all that escaped was a tiny, annoying squeak. 

Closing his optics, he waited until the wail had had enough and given up, and then he let go and opened his mouth, venting an alarming amount of steam. 

The Jon blinked. Now the wail was gone, he felt better and he could think more clearly, and he looked at Michael and Connie, both of whom had witnessed his inner battle. Connie was worried to bits, he could tell, but Michael smiled gently. 

“Feel better now, buddy?” he asked. 

The Jon checked that his ears were still in place and that his head was intact, and then nodded. 

“Yep. Nothing missing.” He took a deep breath, and he felt his koi calm. “Michael …” 

The young mechanic was beginning to unbutton The Spine’s shirt to get at the terrible injury, but he stopped for a moment. 

“Yeah, Jon?” 

“You an’ Connie look after The Spine. I gotta help Clarence take care of Rabbit.” The Jon reached over and patted Michael’s head. “You c’n save him, Michael. I know you can. You gotta save him. You saved Rabbit, an’ now you’re gonna save Spine. ‘Cause you’re a Reed, and that’s what Reeds do.” 

And before Michael could reply, The Jon had returned to his older brother and to Clarence, who was setting up the welding equipment. 

The Jon bent over and whispered to Rabbit. 

“Don’t worry, Rabbit. Spine’s going to be okay. Michael’s going to save him. Michael an’ Connie.” He straightened. “Clarence, what do you want me to do?” 

As Michael watched the brassold automaton busy himself taking care of Rabbit, he looked at Connie. 

“What … what if I can’t, Connie? Save him, I mean? I don’t know –“ 

Connie laid a hand on The Spine’s chest, just over the Blue Matter core that gave him life, and smiled sadly. 

“Son … you do what you can. Then we’ll see what the future brings. That’s all we can do. So … let’s get going. We got a Spine to fix!” 

And giving Michael a watery smile, she set to and began to help him in the task of trying to save The Spine’s life.

 

TBC

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     


End file.
